


The Increasingly Poor Decision Making of Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale

by lapsus_calami



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU-The Proposal, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, stereksummerexchange17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsus_calami/pseuds/lapsus_calami
Summary: The last thing Stiles expected from life was a pretend engagement with his pushy boss. The last thing Derek expected from life was pretending to be in love with his obnoxious assistant. The last thing either of them expected was to not mind the arrangement.





	The Increasingly Poor Decision Making of Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Analinea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analinea/gifts).



> For kinsbournescream as part of the Sterek Summer Exchange '17.

**The Increasingly Poor Decision Making of Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale**

**Part One: The Proposal**

_Life is so full of unpredictable beauty and strange surprises. Sometimes that beauty is too much for me to handle. Do you know that feeling? When something is just too beautiful?_

_It feels a bit like being punched in the face._

*

Ever since his girlfriend of five years looked him straight in the face and broke his heart with a small, two-lettered word Stiles hadn’t given much thought to the question of marriage. Perhaps in some dark corner of his mind he’d entertained the idea, made up near formless impersonations of nice girls or nice guys with a hodgepodge collection of traits Stiles found attractive and pleasing. Perhaps he’d entertained the idea of when and where, and the idea that a fall wedding seemed nice because summer was too hot, winter too cold, and spring just a bit too rainy.

So perhaps he’d entertained vague notions on the subject, but he never imagined it’d happen like this.

“Who,” Stiles forced out between near numb lips. Something about the words just wouldn’t process. “Who is getting married?”

“You and I,” Derek, _his goddamn boss,_ said patting his chest again. The touch this time was no less foreign and awkward than the first time Derek had done it two seconds ago. “You and I are getting married.”

“We are,” Stiles echoed faintly, “getting married?”

“We are getting married,” Derek repeated far more firm. Where Stiles’ sounded like a puzzled question, Derek’s seemed indisputable.

Stiles didn’t understand why. He was pretty sure he’d remember proposing to his boss or getting proposed to. Oh god, maybe the sleep deprivation really was catching up with him. He had no idea what was happening.

“Isn’t he your secretary?” Harris asked gesturing between the two of them.

A distant part of Stiles bristled. “Assistant,” he corrected, brain still reeling and attempting, horrifically, to wrap itself around the idea of _marrying Derek_ , _his boss_. “Executive…assistant.”

“Titles,” Derek said waving a dismissive hand. “But it wouldn’t be the first time one of us fell for our secretaries, would it, Adrian? Laquisha, right?”

Stiles blinked turning to regard Derek with wide eyes because _what the fuck was happening right now?_

“The truth is,” Derek pushed on while Harris shifted uncomfortably and Morrell watched with barely concealed mirth, “Stiles and I, we’re two people who weren’t meant to fall in love, but we did.”

Stiles shook his head. “No.”

“All those late nights at the office,” Derek continued speaking over him. “Weekend book fairs. Something happened.”

“Something,” Stiles echoed though he was still utterly in the dark about what that something was because he didn’t think Derek and him were on the same page. Or even in the same book. Maybe not even in the same dimension.

But Derek was nodding like Stiles was playing right along with him. “Tried to fight it, but can’t, can’t fight a love like ours,” he said patting Stiles chest for the third time just as awkward and wrong as the first two. Stiles wished he’d stop doing that.

For a moment the room was silent. Derek waiting, Morrell watching, Harris speechless, and Stiles confused beyond belief.

“So, are we good with this?” Derek asked finally. “Everything solved?”

“Derek,” Morrell said with a slight smile. “It’s terrific. Just make it legal.”

“Legal,” Derek parroted and Stiles’ stomach flip-flopped horribly as he noted in a moment of insanity that it was the middle of fucking _June._ He wanted a fall wedding, damnit. Morrell held up a hand tapping her ring finger meaningfully and Derek nodded. “Yes, of course. Then we need to get ourselves to the immigration office. Thank you.”

Derek practically dragged him out of the office, a warm and strong hand wrapped around Stiles’ bicep. Stiles followed him in a daze looking around at his coworkers who were already murmuring amongst themselves. Gossip mongers, the whole lot of them. Quite inquiries and cutting remarks— _Really, Stiles? Him?_ —followed them as they walked back to Derek’s office. Derek smoothly ignored every single one. Stiles trailed after him still half in shock.

Back in his office Derek sat behind his desk without a word pulling the next manuscript towards him and deftly removing the clips binding the pages together. Stiles hovered by his desk tapping his fingers on the edge as his brain slowly uncoiled from the assault it had just endured.

Derek glared up at him. Never did like Stiles’ tapping much. “What?”

Stiles licked his lips. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Relax,” Derek said going back to the manuscript. “This is for you too.”

Stiles blinked, and there it was. His brain finally clicking back into gear. “Please do explain how being married to _you_ is beneficial for _me?_ ”

“They were going to make Gerard chief,” Derek said with a huff, distain dripping from every word like he honestly couldn’t imagine a more horrific idea.

“So naturally I would have to marry you.” Stiles let out a short laugh just this side of hysterical and dug his fingers into his eyes. “Why would that make _any_ amount of sense? Why would they even think of making Gerard—oh my god, you bastard,” he said mouth falling open in comprehension as he stared at the manipulative disaster of a Canadian in front of him. “You never filed those forms, did you? And you went to Frankfort. You’re getting deported. They’re actually deporting you.”

Derek shot him another glare and Stiles laughed again raking his hands through his hair. “What’s the problem?” Derek asked. “Like you were saving yourself for someone special.”

And, okay, no he wasn’t, not really. But still. “I like to think so,” he snapped. “Besides it’s illegal.”

“They’re looking for terrorists,” Derek deadpanned leveling Stiles with an unimpressed look. “Not book publishers from Canada.”

Stiles shook his head because, no, absolutely not. This was insane. And Stiles had promised Scott he wouldn’t do anything at this level of insane without at least calling first. “Derek, I'm not going to marry you,” he said as evenly as he could manage.

“Sure you are,” Derek said without missing a beat. “Because if you don’t your dreams of touching the lives of millions with the written word are dead. Gerard will fire you the moment I’m gone, we both know that. Which means you’re out on the street looking for a job. Which means the time we’ve spent together, the coffees, the cancelled dates, the missed holidays, everything, was all for nothing, your dreams of being an editor are gone, and that manuscript you gave me personally will never see the light of day.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped anger boiling behind his sternum. He was getting blackmailed. By his boss. By his fiancé. What the fuck was his life? Behind him Stiles distantly registered the sound of a ringing phone.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said, “after the required allotment of time we’ll get a divorce and be done with each other, but until then, like it or not, you're stuck with me. Now answer the phone.”

*

“My name,” the immigration officer said staring hard at both of them with wild eyes that made Stiles more than a little uncomfortable, “is Bobby Finstock.”

Derek nodded reaching out a hand to briefly shake Finstock’s. “Derek Hale.”

“Yes, I know,” Finstock said before turning to Stiles and glancing at the paper in his hand. “And you must be…what the hell is this? I don’t even know how to pronounce this.”

Stiles sighed ignoring the faintly puzzled look on Derek’s face. “It’s Polish. But I like to be called Stiles.”

“And I like to be called cupcake,” Finstock said dryly.

“Just call me Stiles. It’s a lot easier to pronounce.”

Derek, the asshole, picked that moment to clear his throat catching both of the other men's attention. “We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice,” he said. “I know you must be busy.”

Finstock waved his hand dismissively reclining back in his chair and eyeing them both for a long moment before saying loudly, “So, I’ve got one question for you. Are you both committing fraud to avoid his deportation so he can keep his position as editor in chief at Colden Books?”

Stiles blinked, thanking a lifetime of lying to many, many people for his good poker face. Derek merely arched an eyebrow. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked.

“We had a phone tip this afternoon,” Finstock said digging through the stacks of papers on his desk. “From a man named…where the hell did I put that thing?”

“Gerard Argent?” Derek supplied.

Finstock snapped his fingers. “Yep, that’s the one,” he confirmed and Derek scowled.

“Gerard is nothing more than a disgruntled former employee,” he said. “And you must be busy here so if you’ll just give us our next step then we can be on our way.”

“Derek. Stiles. Let me explain to you the process that’s about to unfold,” Finstock said leaning forward with hands stretched across his cluttered desk. “Step one will be a scheduled interview. I’ll put you each in a room, and I’ll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other. Step two, I dig deeper. I look at phone records. I talk to your neighbors. I interview your co-workers. I PI the crap outta you. And if answers don’t match up at ever point, you will be deported,” he said pointing at Derek. “ _Indefinitely_.”

Stiles swallowed as Finstock turned to him. “And you, young man, will have committed a felony punishable by a fine of two-hundred fifty thousand dollars. We’re talking a quarter of a million here. Plus as stay of five years in federal prison.”

Finstock paused and for a moment the room was engulfed in uncomfortable silence.

“So, Stiles,” Finstock said leaning back and crossing his arms. “Do you…wanna talk to me?”

Stiles swallowed again glancing at Derek. “Uh, no? Yes? I mean, the truth is Derek and I—”

“Are just two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love,” Derek cut in. “But we did.”

“Right,” Stiles said slowly watching Derek lie out of his ass, and, oh, wasn’t that an idea. “Right. But we couldn’t tell anyone we work with because of my big promotion that I had coming up.”

Derek shot him a sharp look. “Promotion?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said looking straight at Finstock and ignoring the ire he could feel practically laser beamed at him from the man at his side. “We both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to editor—”

“Editor,” Derek echoed and, gosh, did it feel good to throw him as much as Stiles had been thrown earlier.

“Yes, while we were dating,” Stiles finished.

Finstock hummed thoughtfully. “Have the two of you told your parents yet about your secret love?”

“My parents are dead,” Derek said. “My whole family, actually.”

Finstock hummed again. “I suppose your parents are dead too?” he asked Stiles.

Stiles frowned. “No, my family is, uh, very much alive.”

“We’re planning on to tell them this weekend,” Derek said and, whoa, wait, since when were they planning that? Stiles had literally no desire to drag the walking mess that was Derek Hale home to meet his folks. “Stiles’ _savta_ is turning ninety,” Derek continued and Stiles winced at the mangling of his pronunciation while simultaneously wondering how Derek knew that, “and the whole family is coming together. We thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Finstock looked utterly unconvinced. Stiles didn’t blame him; Derek couldn’t sound more uncomfortable if he tried. On second thought, he probably could. “And, ah, where’s this surprise gonna take place?”

“At Stiles’ parent’s house,” Derek answered before Stiles could say anything himself. Stupid, because Stiles was about a hundred percent sure Derek had no idea where Stiles’ family lived. Nor was he probably aware that Stiles had never intended to go to his grandmother’s birthday party in the first place. He’d already missed the last three; she’d forgive him for missing another even if his dad never would.

“And where is that exactly?” Finstock asked smirking like a cat about to catch a canary.

“Sitka,” Stiles input before Derek could shove his whole leg in his mouth along with his foot. Derek nodded, thankfully taking the cue to just repeat Stiles’ answer. “I’m from Sitka.”

“Is that so?” Finstock asked. “And, ah, where is that?”

Stiles smiled making sure to watch for Derek’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. “Alaska.”

Derek choked, eyes going wide for the briefest of moments before he tried to play it off as a cough. Finstock eyed him dubiously a moment before sighing. “You’re gonna go to Alaska this weekend? And announce your engagement?”

Stiles turned to Derek staying silent and forcing the other man to reply. “That’s right,” Derek said a little hoarsely. “We are going to Alaska. Alaska, that’s where…that’s where Stiles is from.”

Derek looked like he was dreading just the thought, and Stiles smirked. The proverb was right. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

*

“So here’s the plan,” Derek said already briskly walking down the sidewalk. The Alaska blow hadn’t lasted nearly as long as Stiles had hoped. “We’ll fly up to Alaska. We’ll pretend were dating and tell your parents we’re engaged. Make sure you book the tickets. I’ll pay for you to fly first class. Once you’ve done that…Stiles, are you paying attention?”

Stiles shook his head rounding on Derek to stop him in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” he said dripping sarcasm on all the words to make it clear he was the farthest thing from apologetic, “were you not just in the same room as me?”

Derek blinked at him. “Are you talking about what you said about being promoted? Very clever. I think he bought it.”

“I was being serious,” Stiles said. “I’m looking at a quarter of a million fine and five years in _jail_. That changes things.”

“You want me to promote you to editor?” Derek asked then shook his head. “No. Not going to happen.”

Stiles shrugged. “Then I quit, and you’re screwed. Good luck, buddy.”

“Stiles.”

“It’s been a slice of heaven,” Stiles called over his shoulder as he walked away. “Really. Enjoy Canada.”

He made it several more steps before he heard Derek huff loudly behind him. Always aggravated when someone managed to out-maneuver him.

“Okay, fine!” Derek said. “Fine. I’ll make you editor.”

Stiles turned slowly. “Not in a few years,” he said because he knew how this worked. Knew how to make promises to one person while never giving anything. “Right away.”

“Fine,” Derek agreed through gritted teeth.

Stiles licked his lips going for gold. What the hell; in for a penny, in for a pound. “And you’ll publish my manuscript.”

“I’ll…” Derek sighed running a hand through his hair. “I’ll consider it.”

“No,” Stiles said, voice hard. “You’ll do it.”

“Okay, fine. Yes. I’ll publish it.”

“Good.” Stiles nodded letting out a sharp breath. “Okay. And we tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want.”

Derek inclined his head. “So long as it’s this weekend, fine.”

“Good,” Stiles said again. “Now, ask me nicely.”

Derek frowned, eyebrows drawing together. “Ask you what?”

“Ask me nicely to marry you, Derek.”

The expression on Derek’s face was priceless. Muted horror mixed with an incredulous sort of dismay. Stiles simply arched an eyebrow and gestured towards the ground. After a few moments of obvious deliberation Derek all but growled and bent down on one knee before tilting his head back to peer up at Stiles.

“Does this work for you?” he asked.

Stiles smirked. “Oh, I like this. Yeah. Much better than you looming over me.”

Derek just barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he pulled in a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

“No,” Stiles said. “Say it like you mean it.”

Derek scowled shifting his weight and glaring at the ground for a long second. He cleared his throat, then looked back up. “Stiles?”

“Yes, Derek?”

“Will you please marry me?”

“Okay, I don’t really appreciate the eyebrow glower you’ve got going on, but, sure, whatever. I’ll do it.”

*

_In Boston I met a woman in a bar who, upon seeing me fiddling with the engagement ring I’d never given back to John, bought me a drink and said, “Better start drinking now, dear, it only gets worse from here.”_

*

“So these are the questions that INS is going to ask us,” Stiles said pulling out a binder and handing it over to Derek who started flipping through it scanning the near alarming amount of personal questions. “Now, the good news is that I already know everything about you. The bad news is you have, like, four days to learn all this about me.”

“You know all the answers to these questions about me?” Derek asked a bit unsettled by the idea. He considered himself a highly private man even if Stiles had been working as his personal assistant for the last three years.

Stiles snorted. “Scary, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I didn’t stalk you. I’m just highly observant.”

Derek didn’t reply, just kept thumbing through the pages. After a few minutes of silence he asked, “What am I allergic to?”

“Strawberries,” Stiles answered pausing a moment before adding, “And the full spectrum of human emotion.”

Derek looked up at him, brows furrowed remembering a time when Laura had made jokes like that. “That’s…that was funny,” he said skimming the page he was on for another question to distract himself. “Do I have any scars?”

“Shockingly no,” Stiles said. “But I’m pretty sure you have a tattoo.”

Derek stiffened glancing up at him. “You’re pretty sure,” he repeated.

“Yeah, pretty sure. Two years ago your dermatologist called and asked about a Q-switched laser. I Googled a Q-switch laser and found they’re used to remove tattoos,” Stiles explained like that wasn't basically entry-level stalker behavior. “But you cancelled your appointment and never rescheduled. Ergo, you still have the tattoo.”

Derek just stared at him.

“So what is it?” Stiles asked. “Tribal ink? Japanese calligraphy? Cheesy quote? Binding mark to keep the demon inside?”

“You know it’s exciting for me to experience you like this,” Derek said dryly. He had no desire to discuss his tattoo or anything personal with Stiles. Absolutely zero desire. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said not taking the bait to change the subject. “You know, you’ll have to tell me where it is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“They’re going to ask. Probably.”

“No,” Derek repeated raising the binder a bit to use it as a shield. “And we’re done with that question. On to the next.”

“You realize you’re just quizzing me,” Stiles commented. “Not learning anything.”

“Whose place do we stay at?” Derek read to himself doing his utmost best to tune out Stiles' voice. “That’s easy. Mine.”

Stiles frowned. “Why wouldn’t we stay at my place?”

“Because I live at Central Park West,” Derek said. “And you probably live in a little studio apartment.”

“I’ll have you know it’s a one bedroom,” Stiles retorted as the fasten seatbelt sign came on followed by an announcement over the intercom.

_Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We are beginning our descent into Juneau._

Derek drew his eyebrows together. “Juneau? I thought we were going to Sitka.”

“We are,” Stiles said.

“How?”

Stiles patted Derek’s thigh. “One bus ride and a little plane, my friend. That’s how.”

* * *

 

**Part Two: The Family**

_Don’t ever go looking for dignity in public bathrooms because you certainly won’t find it. In fact, in most NYC public bathrooms the most you’ll be lucky to find is a new appreciation for fresh air and a few sheets of toilet paper you may or may not have had to gingerly pull off the floor._

_If you find yourself looking for dignity in the mirror of a public bathroom at three forty-five in the morning you can be sure of two things: no, you won’t find any dignity there and yes, that karaoke song you just performed was a mistake._

*

The cramped plane Derek was squished on for the final leg of the journey to Sitka was certainly no public bathroom, but even so Derek found no dignity in his reflection faintly visible in the window. Stiles was sat quietly beside him buried in some book and apparently undisturbed by the constant jostling of the plane or the chicken making racket in the seat behind them.

Derek had never considered himself a nervous flier, but this tiny plane took his perfectly healthy levels of anxiety regarding hurtling through the air miles above the ground and increased it exponentially. After nearly an hour of uninterrupted certainty that they might crash at any moment the plane made it’s final descent. Stiles finally looked up, tucking his book away and gathering his few possessions as the plane bumped down along the runway and finally rolled to a stop.

He clapped Derek on the shoulder as he clamored past snagging his duffle bag from the overhead compartment and disembarking. Derek followed slowly tugging down his suitcase and stretching his cramped legs before stiffly descending the stairs to exit the plane.

Stiles was halfway across what passed as a tarmac up here heading towards a small group of people gathered around a tacky _Welcome Home, Stiles!_ sign and waving enthusiastically. At the edge of the group Stiles dropped his bag to the ground arms opening wide for an older man Derek pegged as Stiles’ father. Beside them was a tall man with curly hair, a shorter man with floppy hair, and an elderly woman with dark, curly hair.

“It’s good to see you, son,” the man Derek assumed was Stiles’ father said affectionately ruffling Stiles’ hair before passing him off to the next person.

“Savta,” Stiles said warmly leaning over a bit to embrace the elderly woman. “How are you?”

“Never mind about me,” the woman said grinning. “Where’s your man?”

“Oh, um,” Stiles turned around locating Derek and gesturing vaguely. “He’s…there.”

“Oh, my, he is quite a man, isn’t he?” she asked.

Stiles’ father sighed exasperatedly. “Edith.”

“Derek,” Stiles said waving him closer. “This is my dad, John. This is savta, Edith. My brother, Scott. And this is Isaac.”

The floppy haired man and tall man waved in turn each offering Derek their own greetings. Derek shook their hands wondering if he was imagining the cold edge to Isaac’s smile. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“Now,” Edith said. “Do you prefer Derek or Satan Incarnate? We’ve heard it both ways.”

“Actually we’ve heard it lots of ways,” Isaac commented and Derek blinked.

Scott winced, immediately offering a sincere smile. “They’re kidding.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Yes, well, thank you,” he forced himself to say. “For allowing me to be a part of this weekend.”

John smiled and Derek was struck by how much it resembled Stiles’ for a moment. “We’re thrilled to have you, really. Let’s get back to the fort.”

Derek trailed after Stiles to a beat-up looking truck. Stiles tossed his bag in the bed before opening the passenger door for Isaac and Edith to slide in the front seat next to Stiles’ dad. Scott clamored in the back followed by Stiles and Derek. It was a bit cramped with the three of them in the back, and Stiles promptly launched into an intense discussion with Scott. Which suited Derek just fine as he was more than content to just stare out the window as John drove them through Sitka.

It him after they drove past the fourth business bearing Stiles’ surname that something didn’t quite add up. Derek frowned as they passed _Stilinski’s General Store_ turning to eye the man beside him still in deep conversation with Scott.

“Stiles,” Derek hissed nudging his assistant in the ribs. “Stiles!”

Stiles smacked his hand away. “Please don’t do that.”

“You didn’t tell me about all the family businesses, honey,” Derek said forcing his tone towards the semblance of sweet.

Stiles frowned and looked away without answering. It was Scott who leaned around Stiles to say, “He was probably just being modest.”

Derek pursed his lips but dismissed the subject in favor of asking, “I thought we were going to our hotel?” as John pulled the truck up alongside the bay with no hotel in sight.

“We cancelled your reservation,” John said glancing at them in the rearview mirror. Edith nodded. “Family doesn’t stay at a hotel.”

“Great,” Derek forced himself to say with a smile. “That’s just…great.”

“Just fantastic,” Stiles muttered to himself sliding out of the truck after Derek and reaching into the bed for his duffle. Derek mimicked him to fetch his suitcase peering around and wondering just how much longer it was going to take to get to Stiles’ home. They’d already been traveling almost eleven hours and still all Derek could see was small businesses and water no matter where he looked.

Stiles strode past him slinging his duffle over his shoulder before beginning to climb down over the edge of what Derek had taken to be a wall between the land and water. Inching closer as Scott followed Stiles down Derek saw that below sat a gently bobbing pier with a boat tethered too it.

Isaac and Edith followed Scott and then John was taking Derek’s suitcase and gesturing with an, “After you, son.”

Swallowing Derek gingerly climbed down the ladder as John lowered his suitcase to Scott who quickly stowed it away on the boat next to Stiles’ duffle. With his feet firmly planted on the shifting pier, Derek caught Stiles’ sleeve causing his assistant to shoot him a puzzled look. “I’m not getting on that boat,” Derek whispered fiercely annoyed when Stiles did nothing but raise one eyebrow.

“You don’t have to,” he said. A wave of relief crashed over Derek before Stiles added, “See you in a few days.”

“Stiles, you know I can’t swim.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly. “Hence the boat. Now, come on, sourpuss. Man up, and just sit in the middle if you’re scared.”

Derek glared at Stiles’ back as he climbed aboard the boat immediately walking towards the front where John was at the wheel. Derek pulled in a deep breath before carefully climbing on himself. The boat was even more unstable than the pier; Derek felt like he lost his balance almost right away. Scott grabbed his elbow maneuvering him to a seat in the middle next to Edith with a friendly grin.

“First time on a boat?” he asked and Derek nodded. “Just sit tight then. It’s not a long ride. ‘Bout ten minutes or so. We’ll be there before you know it.”

There turned out to be a near mansion of a house coming slowly into view as they rounded a large outcropping of land. Perfectly manicured lawn, varying shades of brown and yellow bricks building a large three-story house with a wrap around porch, at least one balcony, and four chimneys that Derek could see. To the left sat a smaller building; either a guest house or boat house Derek would presume. Even farther left was a larger building that looked like a garage of some sort, and behind a grove of evergreen trees that encircled everything Derek could see the top of a lighthouse.

Stiles turned to grin at him noticing Derek’s dropped jaw. “That,” Derek said, “is your home? Why did you tell me you were poor?”

Stiles’ grin faded a little. “I never said I was poor.”

“You never said you were rich,” Derek argued.

Stiles shrugged picking at the seam of his pants before squinting at his house. “I’m not rich. My family is well off.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s something only rich people say,” he pointed out. Stiles’ only response was to shrug again.

Getting off the boat and back on to solid ground again was a relief. One Derek didn’t take lightly as it felt a bit like he was still moving. He could see several figures milling about on the patio up ahead as they made their way up the stone walkway.

“Dad, what is this?” Stiles asked once they were halfway and it became evident the several figures were just the start of many other figures.

“Nothing, nothing,” John said patting Stiles’ shoulder. “Just a little welcoming party. Is that a crime?”

Far from looking reassured Stiles frowned, pausing in his trek. “Dad, you know how I feel about parties.”

“We know, dear,” Edith said coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist. “But don’t worry, it’s just a few people.”

“Right,” Stiles said. “Just fifty of our closest friends and neighbors.”

“Well you haven’t been home in almost four years,” Isaac said cutting a sharp glare towards Derek. “People are excited to see you.”

“And to meet Derek,” Scott interjected a bit too hastily.

“A party,” Derek said doubtfully for Stiles’ ears only as his family walked ahead and Stiles remained where he’d stopped.

Stiles sighed hiking his bag up higher. “Yeah, guess so.”

*

Fifty of their closest friends and neighbors turned out to be a bit of an understatement. There were an incredibly unsettling number of people in the house even as large as it seemed. Derek trailed after Stiles for a while before slinking off to a corner with a glass of wine and people watching as Stiles made his way from guest to guest always in the company of either his father, Scott, or Isaac.

At one point a beautiful woman with dark, curly hair much like Edith’s arrived hugging Stiles warmly before kissing both John and Scott on the cheek. Stiles’ mother, Derek presumed, briefly entertaining the idea of going over to be introduced before dismissing it for the moment.

After about fifteen minutes of watching Stiles run what amounted to a basic meet and greet with what appeared to be the entire population of Sitka, Derek detached himself from the wall and wandered over. He maneuvered himself up next to Stiles on the opposite side from Isaac so he could discreetly whisper in Stiles ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were basically an Alaskan Kennedy?”

“Well, how could I?” Stiles retorted lightly as he shook yet another woman’s hand with a farce smile. “We were in the middle of talking about you for the last three years.”

Derek frowned grabbing Stiles’ elbow to tug him off to the side. Isaac shot them both a puzzled look but didn’t follow, instead making his way back over to where Scott was talking with a tall brunette. “This bickering thing has to stop,” Derek hissed. “It’s childish and annoying and people need to think we’re in love, so—”

“That’s not a problem,” Stiles interrupted pulling his arm out of Derek’s grip. “I can do that. I can pretend to be a doting fiancé, that’s easy. But you’re gonna need to stop snacking on children while they dream and do something about that resting bitchface.”

“Funny,” Derek bit out not the least bit amused. “When are you going to tell them we’re engaged?”

Stiles blew out a long breath. “I’ll pick the right moment. Don’t concern yourself,” he said just as someone behind him called his name.

“Hey, Stiles. Hi!”

Stiles closed his eyes, visibly counting to five before turning around with a wide grin. “Hey, Sydney! How are you? Nice to see you. Derek, this is Sydney. Sydney, Derek.”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Sydney said. “Nice to see you too. And nice to meet you Derek.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Derek responded shaking her hand.

“So, Stiles, how are you?” Sydney asked. “Still working at that, uh, publishing company?”

Stiles smiled tightly. “Yep, sure am. It’s great.”

“I’ve always wondered, what does a book editor actually do?”

“That,” a new voice said behind them, “is a great question, Sydney. I’m curious to know myself.”

Stiles raised his gaze to the ceiling muttering a string of quick expletives before turning. “Hi, Lydia.”

Lydia cocked her head slightly to the side, perfectly curled red tresses framing a pretty face that held a bitter expression. “Stiles,” she said coolly, “and you must be Derek.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Derek said offering his hand. Lydia didn’t take it, just eyed him calculatingly for a moment before turning back to Stiles.

“So, why don’t you tell us exactly what a book editor does,” she said. “Besides parties and dinners with writers who might amount to nothing.”

“That actually sounds like fun,” Sydney offered hesitantly. “No wonder you like being an editor.”

“Stiles isn’t an editor,” Lydia said clinking her nails on her glass of champagne. “Derek is the editor. Stiles is the editor’s assistant.”

Sydney looked surprised pointing between the two of them. “Oh, so you’re actually—”

“Stiles’ boss,” Lydia filled in. “Yeah.”

Sydney looked distinctly uncomfortable, mumbling something about getting a drink before drifting away. Derek looked down at his own glass acutely aware of the near palpable tension between Stiles and Lydia. Offering his own excuses of getting a refill Derek slipped away but remained close enough to hear Stiles’ next words.

“That’s a hell of a first impression, Lyds.”

“You really want to go there, Stiles?” she asked. “Let’s talk about you instead. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You show up after all this time with a man you _hate_ and now he’s your _boyfriend_?”

“We just got here,” Stiles said. “Can’t we wait even two seconds before throwing the kitchen sink at each other?”

Lydia snorted. “Just never figured you for a guy who slept his way to the top.”

“I think we both know that out of the two of us that’d be you,” Stiles retorted. “I’ll have you know that man in there is one of the most respected editors—”

“Be honest, Stiles, he’s your meal ticket, and you brought him home to meet your father.”

“No,” Stiles said. “He’s not my meal ticket, Lydia. He’s my fiancé.”

There was a beat of dead silence then, “Excuse me?”

“I’m getting married. To Derek.”

*

_I’ve always found it reassuring to think that even if I’ve fucked up, someone somewhere has undoubtedly done even worse._

*

Derek and Lydia’s expressions probably mirrored each other’s, absolute shock, as Stiles stormed into the main room again and stepped up onto the coffee table before clearing is throat loudly. “Excuse me, everyone, if I could just have your attention. I have an announcement.”

Across the room Derek saw John sigh and put his face in his hands while Stiles’ mother smiled fondly and patted his shoulder. Scott looked puzzled while Isaac just looked faintly amused. Lydia still looked like couldn't quite wrap her head around the idea.

“Right,” Stiles said loudly once the majority of those attending had focused their attention on him. “Okay, so Derek and I are getting married. That’s it. Carry on.”

Derek continued to stare much like everyone else in the room as Stiles hopped down, grabbed Scott’s drink, and knocked it back in one go before disappearing into the kitchen. Sparing Stiles’ shocked family one last glance Derek followed him through the swinging door a little surprised to find Stiles braced against the sink with his head bowed.

“So that was your idea of the perfect time to tell them we’re engaged?” Derek asked for lack of anything better to say. This was, to his knowledge, a whole new side of Stiles he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. In three years Derek could honestly say he’d never seen Stiles be anything other than diligent, dedicated, persistent to annoying levels, and a touch sarcastic.

Stiles laughed bitterly refilling Scott’s commandeered glass with about four fingers of whiskey and downing that too. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely as he gave a full body shudder, “’cause I have brilliant timing. Ask anyone.”

Derek opened his mouth to say…something but fell silent when the door pushed inward to reveal Stiles’ mother. Immediately Stiles straightened from the sink plastering on a smile Derek easily recognized from work and marathon meet and greet events that lasted far too long. It was a version of the same one Stiles had been wearing since they arrived to Sitka.

“Stiles, are you all right?”

Stiles smiled brighter setting his now empty glass and the bottle of whiskey down and moving forward to kiss his mother on the cheek. “I’m fine, really, just a little overwhelmed,” he said. “Why don’t we break out the champagne and celebrate?”

Stiles’ mom looked doubtful for a second, not to mention still a little worried, but eventually she sighed and nodded offering Stiles a smile of her own. “Of course,” she said hugging him tightly. “Not every day you announce you’re engaged.”

“I’ll start passing it around,” Stiles said pulling from her embrace and grabbing a bottle and a couple of glasses before slipping past Derek without even looking at him. Then it was just Derek and Mrs. Stilinski.

Stiles’ mom eyed him carefully for a moment, long enough that Derek shifted in discomfort, before saying softly, “We didn’t think he’d get married, you know? Not for a while anyway.”

Derek cleared his throat flexing his fingers around his glass and wishing it still held a bit of alcohol. “Yes, well…”

“You must be something really special,” she said laying a cool hand on his cheek with a small smile. “You do right by him now, you hear? That boy deserves a spot of joy in his life.”

She patted his cheek once more and slipped away before Derek found his tongue and managed to make more than a mangled mess of sounds. The whole thing was very unexpected. Unsettling too. Derek grabbed the closest bottle of wine, dumping a fair amount in his glass and taking two gulps before leaving the kitchen.

He nearly caused a three person collision as he left, stopping just short of running over a blonde woman and grabbing Stiles’ arm before the other man could either since he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to where he was going. At the touch Stiles jerked around, gaze landing first on Derek before flitting to the woman.

“Oh my god, hey!”

“Stiles,” the woman said grinning. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Stiles repeated. “I…didn’t know you were going to be here. How are you?”

“Well, Scott probably wanted it to be a surprise,” the woman said sliding her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “So, surprise.”

“Right, of course he did.”

The woman glanced at Derek a small smirk tugging at the corner of her red lips. “We’re being very rude, Stiles,” she said. “Hi.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Um, Derek, this is my…Erica. This is Erica.”

“I’m his ex-girlfriend,” Erica said sticking her hand out for Derek to shake.

Stiles blinked, pursing his lips. “Oh, God. Sorry. She's a very good old friend who doesn't know the meaning of subtlety.”

“And you do?” Erica asked with an arched eyebrow. “Anyway, congratulations, you guys. Especially you, Derek. Well done.”

Stiles stiffened dropping his gaze to the floor. “Thank you, Erica,” he said and after a moment Derek remembered to echo him.

If she noticed the awkwardness Erica didn’t comment on it, simply threw an arm around Stiles’ waist and asked, “So, did I miss the story?”

“What story?” Stiles asked puzzled. “There’s no story.”

“Sure there is,” Erica said. “The story of whoever proposed.”

*

“Um, so, where to begin,” Stiles said slowly, “this story.” He glanced around the room as he took a generous sip of champagne eyeing the expectant gazes of the attendees with something akin to abject horror. “You know what? Derek loves telling this story, so I’m just gonna let him go ahead and, uh, do that,” he said abruptly gesturing at Derek. “Take it away, Der.”

Derek scowled at him, put on the spot and floundering for a moment. “Well,” he said drawing the word out to buy some time. “Stiles and I were about to celebrate our first anniversary together and I was starting to think about…asking the question.”

“He’d been dying to ask me,” Stiles interjected taking yet another gulp of his drink. Derek glared at him, but Stiles blithely continued. “But he was scared. Like a tiny, baby rabbit. So I started leaving him hints because I knew he’d take too long to man up and just ask, but—”

“That’s not how it happened,” Derek argued and several people blinked in surprise. “I mean, I picked up on all his hints. Stiles is about as subtle as a gun.”

That got a few snickers, a solemn nod from Scott, and an outright laugh from Erica. Edith was smirking merrily away on the couch looking like she knew just how full of shit they were at the moment.

“I was just worried Stiles might find a box that I had hidden.”

“Right,” Stiles said eyeing Derek over the top of his glass. “The decoupage box he made with tiny, tiny pictures of his face. Naturally I found the box.”

“Because you don’t know how to respect people’s privacy,” Derek ground out which got another round of chuckles.

“And I opened it,” Stiles said, “to see—”

“Nothing,” Derek said ignoring Stiles small glare. “No ring.”

“Instead a hand written note,” Stiles continued staring challengingly at Derek. “With the address to a hotel, date, and time. Real Humphrey Bogart-type stuff.”

“Masculine,” Derek corrected. “And, naturally, Stiles thought—”

“I thought he was cheating,” Stiles said. “Terrible time for me, but I went anyway. And Derek was there—”

“Standing.”

“Kneeling.”

“Like a man.”

“On a bed of rose petals, in a tuxedo. Choking back sobs.”

“With my mother’s ring,” Derek said ignoring the startled look Stiles shot him. “The last thing I had of her. And I said to Stiles—”

“He said, _Stiles, will you marry me?_ And I said, _Yep._ The End,” Stiles said quickly. “Who’s hungry?”

“That’s quite a story,” Lydia said.

Edith smiled either not hearing or ignoring the suspicion in Lydia’s tone. “Where’s the ring then?”

“Doesn’t fit me, obviously,” Stiles said.

Derek smiled tightly. “It’s being resized.”

“Well, how about a kiss from the two love birds instead,” Erica said grinning.

Stiles shot Derek another wide-eyed look. “Uh,” he said. “I don’t think—”

“Oh come on, dear,” Edith said. “Give your boy a kiss.”

“Uh,” Stiles said again. “Okay.” He stretched up on his tiptoes and pecked Derek lightly on the mouth before Derek even realized he’d agreed. It was a barely there pressure, gone before Derek could even react.

“No, Stiles,” Edith said. “Kiss him like you mean it.”

“Savta,” Stiles began right as Erica started up a chant around the room that quickly had twenty or so people loudly proclaiming, “Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him!”

Stiles swallowed, running a hand through his hair before muttering, “Fuck it.” He slid a hand around the back of Derek’s neck rising up again to press his lips hard against Derek’s. Again, somehow, it was unexpected and Derek couldn’t help but freeze. Stiles’ lips were chapped and dry, his palm warm where it rested above the collar of Derek’s shirt. It’d been years since he kissed anyone and the feeling of Stiles slowly moving his lips just a little bit was nearly as foreign as a first kiss.

Derek didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes until Stiles was pulling away and he had to open them to see the world again. Someone was clapping he distantly noted; someone else was whistling. Stiles drew back entirely, swiping the palm of his hand over his jeans and looking anywhere but at Derek as he drained the last of his drink.

Edith smiled at them both wrapping an arm about each of their waists. “I’m so happy for you two,” she said. “So happy for you both.”

Derek mustered up a smile; Stiles stared down at his glass.

“I need more champagne.”

*

“So here’s your room,” John said opening the door and gesturing for them to enter. Stiles went first looking just a little unsteady on his feet. Derek trailed after him looking around in interest. The bedroom, like most of the rooms in the house, was large with large matching furniture. There was a big wardrobe in the corner of the room, the headboard and footboard were intricate swirls of wood. In the opposite corner was a small table and plush looking chair. At the foot of the bed sat a large wooden chest with a rounded lid. A wall of windows completed the room with heavy drapes hanging on the ends and a sliding door leading out to the balcony in the center.

“It’s, uh, nice,” Derek said eventually as Stiles just hovered. “Nice view.”

John smiled. “There are towels and linens in the wardrobe. Extra blankets in the hope chest if you get chilly tonight.”

“Thank you,” Derek said glancing at Stiles who was staring out the window at the setting sun. “Uh, we’d better turn in. It’s been quite an evening.”

John nodded, seeming to regard his son’s turned back with something approaching sorrow before offering Derek one last smile and bidding them both good night. Derek waited until the door clicked closed and he heard retreating footsteps before saying, “So you haven’t been home in a while.”

Stiles sighed. “Haven’t had a lot of vacation time,” he said turning to drag a couple pillows to the floor. He fussed around with them for a few minutes before pulling the chest open to draw out a heavy blanket, which he dropped on top of the pillows. Once he started pulling off his shirt Derek retreated to the bathroom with his suitcase to dig out the long sleeve shirt and pants he’d brought to sleep in. He gave Stiles ample time to change and brushed his teeth before daring to leave.

Stiles was on the floor between the bed and the windows, eyes closed and looking almost like he was asleep already. Derek crossed the room sliding into the bed and wincing at the direct sunlight shining in his face. He could have sworn it had been at this exact height for the last hour. “Is the sun ever going to set?” he asked half not expecting a reply.

“What time is it?” Stiles mumbled.

Derek furrowed his brows but obligingly reached for his phone to check, surprised to find it much later than he’d expected. “About nine thirty.”

“Then the sun will set in about half an hour.”

“Sunset is at ten o’clock?”

“Alaska,” Stiles said. “Remember?”

A moment later a pale hand snaked up to the nightstand as Stiles fumbled about before apparently finding what he wanted in the form of the tiny white remote thing Derek had assumed went with either the fireplace or the celling fan. Stiles clicked a few buttons, swearing quietly, and then the drapes were sliding closed and blanketing the room in blessed darkness. It was still a bit brighter than Derek preferred but nice all the same.

“So what’s the deal with you and your family?” Derek asked.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles murmured. “That question is not in the binder.”

“You were the one who said we needed to learn all this—”

“Not about that.”

“But if they ask,” Derek pressed.

Stiles huffed, response sharp. “Not about that, Derek. Good night.”

“Your family seems to really care about you,” Derek said to the ceiling some time later again not really expecting a reply.

“Yeah,” Stiles said voice a bit muffled. “They do do that.”

Derek nodded slightly to himself. “They also seem…worried about you.”

“That is also a truth fact.”

“You hold your liquor better than I would have expected,” Derek said turning to the side to peer down at Stiles.

Stiles pulled in a deep breath, eyes closed. “That’s good to hear you think that because I am very, very drunk right now.”

“You don’t seem it,” Derek remarked.

“Guess I just have one of those faces,” Stiles said, which made zero sense. “I try very hard.”

Derek frowned. “You try very hard…”

“Didn’t want them to know I was drunk,” Stiles replied with a yawn. “They’d feel bad.”

“Why would they feel bad?”

“Because,” Stiles said rolling over to shove his face in the pillow, “they know I don’t want to be here.”

*

_There are two different kinds of homesickness. One for the people and another for the place. You can be surrounded by people you love and still fiercely miss your home and you can be comfortably squirreled away in your childhood room and still feel all alone in every sense of the word._

_Either way, it sucks._

* * *

 

**Part Three: The Idea**

Derek awoke earlier than Stiles the next day annoyed to find it even brighter in the room than before and only at five o’clock in the morning. Apparently it was only dark for five or six hours here. Stiles did little more than grumble at him and all but roll under the bed when Derek whispered his name so Derek figured he was on his own.

Padding quietly out of the room and wrapping a large hoodie he’d found at the bottom of the bed around himself to ward off the chill Derek made his way downstairs blinking as he discovered it was even brighter without any drapes attempting to keep the rooms in shadow. He appeared to be the only person awake which was more than fine by him as he fixed himself a cup of coffee before deciding to drink it out on the porch.

Of course this assumption was proven immediately wrong when he eased out the front door and found Edith sitting in one of the chairs bundled up in a flower print pink housecoat with her curly hair piled on top of her head.

“Good morning, dear,” she said cradling a cup of something hot in her hands though Derek didn’t think it was coffee. “Sleep well?”

“It’s a bit bright,” Derek said settling down in the chair next to her.

Edith smiled taking a sip of her drink. “Alaska, dear,” she said. “Remember?”

Derek shook his head a fleeting smile gracing his lips. “Stiles said the exact same thing last night.”

Edith laughed, the sound refreshing and soothing even weighed down with age and wisdom. Derek supposed at some point it must have been crystal clear and lovely, the kind of laugh that hooked a man and kept him chasing after just for the chance to hear it again. “Bless that boy,” she said. “He still sleeping?”

Derek grunted an affirmative thinking of the man half under the bed upstairs. He’d probably have a hell of a hangover when he woke up; Derek didn’t think he saw Stiles drink anything without alcohol in it since they’d arrived yesterday afternoon.

“Good. That boy could rival a professional insomniac with how little he sleeps,” Edith said staring out across the lawn. “Or at least he could last time I saw him.”

“How long ago was that?” Derek asked before kicking himself mentally at the shrewd look Edith sent him. It was, after all, the sort of thing Derek should maybe know if they were truly getting married. “It’s, uh, he doesn’t talk about you much,” he amended wincing.

Edith smiled again more sorrowful than anything. “That does not surprise me,” she said before letting out a long breath and setting her mug aside. “It’s been…oh, about five years or so. Almost six. He came home once a few years back. I suppose he don’t like being here. Too much heartache. Too much sorrow. Stiles doesn’t handle heartache well. It eats him up inside. He’s not like you.”

Derek blinked, startled. “Like me?”

“You have the look of someone used to heartache,” Edith said. “You can see it in your eyes. But you’ve learned to live with it.”

*

Stiles spent about twenty minutes just standing under the spray of hot water hoping it might help him feel a bit more like a living human. At minute twenty-one he gave it up as a lost cause and went about the exhausting task of brushing his teeth, making his hair presentable, staring unhappily at the circles under his eyes, and finding clothes to wear that didn’t look horrible as a whole ensemble.

He settled on jeans and a t-shirt, the kind he rarely had the opportunity to wear anymore since he spent about eighty-percent of his time at work and the other twenty-percent sleeping. Running his hands through his hair, and probably undoing all five of the minutes he’d spent trying to get it to not look like he’d just crawled out of a hole, Stiles bumbled his way down the stairs with a yawn that cracked his jaw.

Derek hadn’t been in the room when Stiles woke up and he wasn’t anywhere that Stiles could see downstairs. His dad and Melissa were in the kitchen along with Scott who was stationed by the stove cooking what smelled like pancakes and sausage.

“Moring, sunshine,” Scott said with a grin when Stiles entered. “Sleep well?”

Stiles grunted and made a beeline for the coffee maker relieved to see a pot ready and waiting. He poured it into the mug Scott slid his way, filling it to the brim and taking a long draw before sighing in relief. “Oh, sweet Jesus, that’s good.”

“Since when do you drink it black?” Scott asked from in front of the refrigerator with creamer in one hand.

Stiles blinked. “Since about three years ago,” he answered honestly. Sometimes he though that was the hardest adjustment of working for Derek, going from coffee loaded with sugar and creamer to black so he could get two cups of the same. Now that he’d managed it and grown accustomed to the taste, though, he just didn’t think it was worth the effort even when he could add anything.

“All right then,” Scott said under his breath sticking the creamer back in the refrigerator and returning to the stove to poke at the sausage and flip the pancakes.

“You look tired, kiddo,” Dad said concern lacing his tone. “You sleep okay?”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Slept fine. Yesterday was just a long day and I have a bit of a headache.”

“I bet you do,” Melissa said giving him a kiss on the cheek as she pulled plates from the cupboard by Stiles’ head. “That’s what copious amounts of alcohol will do to you.”

Stiles felt his face flush as he slouched against the counter and tried to hide in his coffee mug. “Didn’t drink that much,” he muttered and Scott leaned back a bit to glance at him over his shoulder.

“No worries, bro. I got you covered,” he said gesturing at the food in front of him. “This batch is all ours. Everyone else ate already.”

Stiles frowned. “Where’s—”

“Derek’s out on the porch with Savta,” Dad said. “Why don’t you go get him, Stiles? Melissa and the girls have a whole day planned.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise Stiles looked at Melissa. “Oh, do you? You ain’t gonna traumatize him or anything, are you?”

“Lydia will be there,” Melissa said with a smile. “So I make no promises.”

“Don’t worry,” Scott said. “Ally will keep her in check, I'm sure.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m more worried about Erica to be honest,” Stiles said setting his coffee aside. “I’ll go warn him of his impending doom then.”

As Dad had said Derek was on the porch with Savta, empty mug in his hands as he spoke quietly with Edith. They both looked up as Stiles padded out onto the porch, Savta rising from her seat to give him a short hug before disappearing into the house with a knowing look in their direction.

“Good morning,” Derek said once they were alone.

“Yeah, morning,” Stiles returned scrubbing a hand over his face. “You have to get ready.”

Derek frowned looking a bit alarmed. “For what.”

“You’re going out with Melissa and the girls. They have a whole shebang planned or something. It’ll probably be fun.”

If possible Derek was looking even more alarmed. “I don’t want to go,” he said.

“It’ll be fun,” Stiles said. “You’ll go and you’ll love it.”

“Stiles, I don’t want to go. I’m not.”

“You are,” Stiles said wishing suddenly that he had put a bit of whiskey in his coffee. Or anything alcoholic really. “Now, give me a hug. We don’t want them to think we’re fighting.”

Derek turned slightly towards the house. “You think they’re watching us?”

“They’re all bigger snoops than I am no matter what they say,” Stiles said. “They’re definitely watching us.”

Derek wasn’t so much an active participant as a stiff being allowing itself to be embraced. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders giving in and letting his forehead rest along Derek’s collarbone for a few seconds before pulling away. He let his hand linger on Derek’s neck and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.

“There,” he said patting Derek’s cheek and ignoring the glare he received. “Now, we look happy.”

The sound of tires on gravel drew his attention to Allison’s car pulling up in the driveway and he gave Derek a slight nudge. “Go on and change,” he said. “Wear something comfortable, you’ll be doing a lot of walking.”

Derek’s only response was to shoot Stiles one last glare before disappearing into the house to hopefully follow Stiles’ instructions. He stayed on the porch as Allison, Lydia, and Kira climbed out of the car chatting inanely as they made their way over.

“Scott’s in the kitchen,” Stiles told Kira before she could ask. She gave him a sweet smile as she slipped inside followed closely by Allison who gave Lydia a stern look over her shoulder as the door swung shut.

Stiles raised an eyebrow silently asking what that was about, and Lydia sighed.

“Talk to you a moment?” she said and Stiles spread his arms in an open invitation. They were alone on the porch for the moment. Weren’t going to get much more privacy than that at this house. Goddamn snoops every single one of them.

“Ally’s a bit peeved at me,” Lydia said sending Stiles a wry smile. “It’s been pointed out to me that I haven’t been the best friend of late. I mean, it was a bit of shock to find out that you’re getting married, especially when none of us knew you were even dating. But the point is…I owe you an apology.”

“Accepted,” Stiles said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Lydia said softly. “I’ve been a bitch. To you and Derek. Mostly to you. But also to Derek.”

Stiles grinned, ducking his head. “Just a little. But I’m not blind to my part in this either, you know. I haven’t been…”

“I am happy for you though, Stiles,” she said after Stiles trailed off unsure how to finish. “Really. Still a little mad at you for leaving. But, you know, it brought you to Derek.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said swallowing roughly. “It did do that.”

Lydia laid a hand on his arm giving a gentle squeeze. “And, Stiles? It’s really good to see you again.”

*

If this was Stiles’ definition of fun then they really never would get along as anything other than a pretend couple. Derek felt like he was going to hyperventilate. Up on stage under hot lights with people cheering and hollering in the audience. A butt swaying far, far too close to his face. A butt Derek had just smacked, oh dear god. Laura would be laughing her ass off at him right now if she could see him. If she wasn’t up on stage dancing right along with Ramone, of course. Like Erica was doing.

Derek twisted searching for a familiar face and landing on the tall brunette he vaguely recognized from the welcome party yesterday next to the sweet girl he’d only met this morning. “Can I get down now?” he asked trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

Allison laughed, still clapping along with the others, but nodded. “Yes, be free!” she called, and Derek didn’t need much more prompting than that.

He scrambled up from the chair and slipped off the stage by passing all the people for the glowing sign that proclaimed an exit straight ahead. The fresh air outside was heaven compared to the heady smell inside the bar. He crossed the small deck to lean against the railing pulling in deep breaths until the pounding of his heart settled down to a reasonable level. The noise from inside swelled a bit as the door opened behind him again before being cut off once more as the door fell shut.

“There you are,” Lydia said sidling up next to him at the railing with a tight smile. Derek still got the sense she didn’t like him much, but she seemed to be trying more than the other night. “How you holding up?”

“Oh. Fine,” Derek said cautiously squinting out at the sun. “Just fine.”

Lydia’s smile turned a bit more genuine. “The Stilinski Clan can be a bit overwhelming at times. You’ll get used to it.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed. “A bit.”

Lydia nodded turning to stare out across the town with him sunlight gleaming off her red hair. “New York’s quite different, huh?”

“A bit,” Derek said again. “You ever been?”

“A few times, yes. Always seem to find myself back here though.”

Derek nodded shuffling against the banister and shooting little glances at Lydia. He got the sense she wasn’t out here just for mundane small talk. After a few moments of silence she drew in a long breath, tapping her fingers on the railing.

“I wanted to apologize, actually, for being less welcoming than I should have been,” she said finally, turning to look at Derek and tucking strands of hair behind her ear that the breeze tugged loose almost immediately. “I know I can be quite…protective of Stiles. It’s not really my place anymore, but I’m accustomed to the role.”

“You two are close then?” Derek asked and Lydia grinned self-consciously.

“That does tend to happen when you date as long as we did and remain friends after,” she said. “Especially with someone like Stiles who tends to care more about others than himself.”

“You two dated?” Derek echoed in surprise. “I thought Erica…”

“Erica and Stiles were a classic high school couple,” Lydia said waving a manicured hand. “On and off for three years. Eventually decided they worked better as friends. Stiles and I dated steady senior year and all through college.”

“Ah. And you called it off because?”

Lydia swept her hair behind her ear again, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight. “Night before we graduated he proposed. Said he wanted to elope, run away to New York with me.”

“You said no,” Derek concluded when Lydia remained quiet without finishing.

Lydia nodded slightly offering him a small smile. “I said no,” she confirmed. “We wanted very different things from life, Stiles and I. Still want different things. And I didn’t see how we could make that work. You’re a lucky man, Derek. He really is the best, something I’m sure you already know.”

“Right,” Derek agreed only a little too quickly to his own ears. “Definitely.”

*

_Friends, I have to be honest. I walked into that bar with all my clothes, sober as a church mouse, and with full intention to leave after two hours._

_I stumbled out of that bar six hours later without my underwear, three sheets to the wind, and having given my favorite silk blouse to the prostitute hanging off my arm who became the first and last girl I ever kissed._

_It was a good night._

*

Derek wasn’t sure what was more emotionally traumatizing: Ramone The Stripper or Lydia’s revelation. Probably Ramone The Stripper, but knowing Stiles had proposed to Lydia held its own weight.

“I’ve never seen him so…enthusiastic,” Melissa was saying, Derek only half paying attention to their conversation.

“No, he really got down today,” Erica said playfully nudging Derek in the side. “Must’ve been the presence of another hot guy.”

“Whatever it was,” Edith put in. “I’ll take more.”

“Oh no.”

That was Lydia. Derek snapped his attention back to more than just making sure he didn’t trip, frowning when he saw Stiles hacking away at what looked like some sort of tree vaguely shaped like a canoe. There wasn’t any rhythm, no finesse; it looked like Stiles was doing his very best to hammer out some frustration on a hunk of wood that appeared to have been used for that very purpose many times in the past.

“Stiles!” Melissa called pausing a moment before trying again. “Stiles, honey, is everything okay?”

Derek frowned turning to Edith beside him. “What is he doing?”

Edith shook her head. “Something’s up. Best to leave him alone. Come along, dear.”

Derek followed everyone up to the house, only sparing Stiles one last glance before letting the door fall shut behind him. Melissa made straight for the kitchen and in the brief moment the door swung open Derek could see John standing at the counter with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Why is Stiles out there hollowing out that stupid canoe again?”

The door swung back, open just the slightest bit, and Derek saw John down his glass in one go. “Maybe he’s planning an escape.”

The words were bitter, hurt. Even with the doors closed Melissa and John’s voices were more than audible. Derek glanced awkwardly at the others. Erica muttered something about going for a walk, taking Lydia’s arm on the way out. Edith suggested Derek go freshen up and though Derek agreed he found himself pausing on the stairs to listen to the words sounding from the kitchen.

“What did you do, John?”

“Nothing,” John defended sounding guilty. “I just, I tried to talk to him about Claudia.”

“Well, that’s a good idea,” Melissa said. “Bring up his mother when he’s only just gotten back to Alaska.”

“He’s getting married, Mel. When else are we supposed to talk about it?”

“When he’s ready! Not when he’s about to get married, and not when he’s just come back.”

John’s next words were quieter, harder to hear even as Derek took a few steps towards the kitchen. “What if he’s never ready?”

“He will be.”

“He’s my only son. He’s all I have left of her.”

“I know, John. You just gotta give him time.”

*

There was something therapeutic about hacking away at an enormous log with loud music pounding in his ears. Something therapeutic about the burn in his muscles, the cold air harsh in his throat, the blisters on his hands, and the sweat slicking his body until he nearly shivered with it. It helped that the canoe had been a project he’d worked on with his mother once upon a time. Forever unfinished because Stiles couldn’t bring himself to complete it. Only to hack at it aimlessly just too feel something other than the gripping anxiety pooling in his stomach and sabotaging his lungs.

His therapists were always suggested the same thing. Physical exertion to help combat the unease crawling under his skin. Further targeted specifically for Stiles’ desire to just break something. Pummel a pillow, his first therapist had said. Take up boxing, pound on a punching bag, his second proposed. Stiles had never tried either one. There was nothing satisfying about punching something as soft and yielding as a pillow, and he’d never had the desire to take up boxing. But he figured splintering wood with an axe was all well in good so long as it was just wood he was hitting.

Stiles finally let the axe fall and stay where it stopped, wedged in wood as his chest heaved and he swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. He felt better. Shaky in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do raw, unadulterated exertion. And as long as he was careful, focused just on what he felt in his hands and on the beat of the music in his ears, then he didn’t dwell on his father’s words.

He tucked the axe away, safely ensconced in the canoe out of the direct line of any rain or snow, and headed back towards the house. His father was in the kitchen, hunched over the counter with a bottle of whiskey by his elbow. Stiles bit his lip, pushed away the wave of guilt, and turned the music up taking the stairs two at a time.

The room he was sharing with Derek was blessedly empty, but Stiles stepped out onto the balcony after grabbing a towel anyway not quite ready to give up the fresh air even as he stripped off sweat soaked clothes. One bonus to living in Alaska verses New York; there were no eyes to see him drop all his clothes in a pile, iPod held firmly in his mouth as he raked still trembling hands through his hair. Picking the towel to wipe at his face Stiles turned to head in for a shower. Half-way in he turned back with the thought that he should pick up his clothes, then shook his head and spun back around tugging the towel over his head. His clothes could wait.

He ran into something warm and heavy, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards. The thing followed him down, wet and slick where it pressed up against him. It clicked suddenly that the thing was a person, and judging from the soft press against his thigh a man. In his room. Which meant the man was—

Stiles scrambled to tug the towel off his head, and Derek’s shocked gaze met his.

“Oh my god!” Stiles cried, words drawn out and audible even over the music still blaring in his ears. “Why are you wet!

Derek’s eyes widened even further, shocked out of his stupor by Stiles’ words. “Why are you naked!” he shouted rolling off Stiles and clambering towards the bed.

Stiles scurried the other way ripping out his headphones and diving for the towel he’d inadvertently thrown in his haste to get it off earlier. “Why are you wet!” he asked again unable to get his brain anywhere past those words. He glanced over his shoulder again, apparently also unable to help the urge to look at Derek while he clumsily pulled a blanket around himself. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, sliding along the contours of muscles and over thick black lines swirling on Derek’s back.

“Why are you naked?” Derek demanded at a much lower volume. “Explain yourself.”

Stiles gaped gesturing at the open door and then back at Derek. “I was outside,” he said.

“And you didn’t hear me?” Derek asked.

“I was listening to…” Stiles shook his head. “What are you doing here? Then you just jump me out of nowhere?”

Derek gaped. “I was looking for a _towel_ ,” he said running a hand through damp hair, brows creasing in confusion. “And if anything _you_ jumped _me_.”

“Okay,” Stiles said closing his eyes and waving his hands before immediately opening them again because he really didn’t need to picture Derek naked in detail at this moment in time. He could do that later. Like in five minutes, maybe. “Whatever. We jumped each other. It was awkward. Now it’s over. I'm going to go shower.”

“You do that,” Derek said. “Go take a shower. You reek.”

“I will. I’m going. Right now.”

“Stiles, go.”

“Going. Nice tattoo, by the way.”

He shut the door on Derek’s shocked face.

*

“So naked,” Stiles breathed some time later when they were both lying in the dark waiting for sleep.

Derek sighed closing his eyes in an effort to push away the images the words summoned before realizing that shutting his eyes was the worst way possible to go about trying to do so. “Can we not talk about that, please?”

“I can’t really stop thinking about it.”

Derek sighed again letting the silence envelope them for minutes, unwilling to admit he too was dwelling on what had happened earlier. After all it wasn’t every day Derek ran buck-naked into another buck-naked attractive man. And Stiles was attractive. Derek found Stiles annoying persistent and a general nuisance, but he wasn’t blind. Stiles was all gentle angles and pale skin, nimble fingers and large palms, dark hair and darker eyes.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked finally staring blankly up at the ceiling. He wasn’t quite sure why he asked, why he thought it would be a good distraction. Only knew he was curious and the late hour and long shadows had a way of drawing the deepest questions out of a person.

Stiles remained silent long enough that Derek thought he wasn’t going to answer. Eventually soft words drifted up from the floor at the foot of the bed. “She’s dead. Passed away when I was eighteen.”

Derek processed that, wondering if there was anything he should say, anything he could say. After a moment he settled on saying nothing, none of the responses he was coming up with being suitable for the moment. If there was one thing Laura had tried to teach him it was how to read a room. He wasn’t very good at it sometimes, but, still, he tried.

“How’d she die?” he found himself saying and, again, it was another long moment before Stiles responded.

“Huntington’s disease.”

Derek frowned shifting in the bed. “Isn’t that genetic?” he whispered.

That one got a swift reply. “Yeah, it is.”

“Can they test for that?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you,” Derek paused, licked his lips, “have you been tested?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m twenty-four,” Stiles said quietly. “Symptoms usually present starting at age thirty, but not always. I’ll either have it or I won’t. Don’t really see the point in finding out the inevitable. Schrodinger’s illness. Long as I don’t know for sure then there’s hope.”

That sounded terrible. Like a weight that would never lift, always dragging you down. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but never really knowing for sure if it was hanging above you in the first place. Derek pursed his lips, stared at the shadows playing across the ceiling of the room. Listened to Stiles’ soft breaths on the floor beside him.

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“That manuscript I gave you, the one you’ve been reading?” Stiles said quietly as if Derek wouldn’t know exactly what he meant. “It’s not random. It’s not, it’s not just from someone else.”

Derek frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My mother wrote it,” Stiles admitted and Derek’s breath caught in his chest. “Most of it. I, she didn’t get a chance to finish it before, well, before. So I finished it.”

“Stiles—”

“Don’t,” he said and his voice sounded a little thick. It made Derek uncomfortable though he wasn’t sure if it was in response to just hearing emotion or the fact that he didn’t really want Stiles to be upset. “Don’t, um, react to that. I just, I just thought you should know. In case I’m, I don’t know, being incredibly narrow minded about it. And, um, even though it was part of the deal, don't, don’t publish it if it’s not as great as I think it is.”

“I like _Long Island Medium_ ,” Derek said into the silence after.

“Hmm?”

“Not in the ha-ha, isn’t that funny, he likes that trash kind of way. I actually quite enjoy it,” Derek said playing with the edge of the blanket. He’d never told anyone that. He cleared his throat casting around for more facts about himself that even Stiles wouldn’t already know.

“I took ballet lessons with my little sister, Cora, until I was twelve. I think Ryan Reynolds is sexy. I hadn't so much as kissed someone in over a year before you. Don’t like flowers in the house because they remind me of funerals. I’ve never played a video game. I read _The Count of Monte Cristo_ every Christmas. It’s my favorite book. I can’t watch _Aladdin_ because it was Laura’s favorite movie. The smell of smoke still makes me ill. And the tattoo on my back is a triskelion. Got it when I was sixteen after my entire family died in a house fire.”

He cleared his throat again forcing his fingers to stop fidgeting. “I’m sure there’s many, many other things, but that’s all I can come up with right now.”

Stiles was quiet for a long time after, the silence stretching out almost to an intolerable length. Derek thought he may have actually fallen asleep, then, “You think Ryan Reynolds is sexy?”

Derek closed his eyes in relief something akin to a chuckle falling from his lips. “Out of all that, that’s what you choose to focus on?”

“It’s just…Ryan Reynolds?” Stiles sounded genuinely confused.

“Who’s your sexy celebrity, Stiles?”

“I dunno. Chris Evans? Maybe Chris Pratt. Anthony Mackie is attractive. But _Ryan Reynolds_?”

“Anthony Mackie is quite nice looking,” Derek grudgingly allowed turning on his side to get more comfortable. Stiles chuckled beneath him.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are also quite nice looking.”

*

_Closeness can be a hard word to define. On the surface it seems simple, but broken down one realizes there’s more to it than meets the eye. After all proximity isn’t the only dimension of the word._

*

An obnoxious sounding knock woke Derek from a dead sleep. It took him a moment to place where he was but eventually the pieces clicked together enough to remember he was at Stiles’ parent’s house. Whoever it was at the door knocked again and Derek abruptly remembered why that was a bad thing.

“Stiles!” he hissed.

“Room service,” Edith called from beyond the door. “Breakfast for the happy couple.”

“Stiles! Your grandmother’s at the door. Get up!”

The only response was an intelligible groan.

Derek flopped across the bed to grope at the floor. His hand hit Stiles’ abdomen, the top half of his body underneath the bed for some reason, and he gave Stiles a rough shake. “Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles jerked, a loud clang sounding from under the bed followed by a rush of explitives as Stiles shimmied his way out. “The fuck is your problem?” he asked glowering up at Derek while he rubbed at his forehead.

“Get up here!” Derek whispered as Edith knocked again. “Just a second!”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he scrambled up from the floor kneeing Derek hard in the stomach as he crawled onto the bed.

“Get off me.” Derek shoved him away causing Stiles to punch him hard in the arm before tearing at the blankets to get under them.

“Spoon me,” Stiles ordered shuffling backwards.

Derek balked. “What? Why?”

“Because I like to be spooned,” Stiles snapped. “Just do it!”

Derek hesitated then moved closer wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist, trying to seem close while not being all that close at all. Stiles was weirdly warm, Derek finally understood why he was sleeping on the floor with just one blanket while Derek was slightly chilly sometimes with the comforter, and he could feel Stiles’ heart beating like a jackrabbit where his hand rested on Stiles’ ribcage.

“Come in!” Stiles called, and Edith pushed the door open carrying a tray laden with breakfast into the room while Melissa carried a pitcher of what looked like lemonade “Oh wow, savta, smells good.”

“Cinnamon rolls,” Edith said with a smile. “Homemade.”

Derek swallowed the sweet smell nearly overpowering and delicious. “You shouldn’t have gone through that trouble,” he found himself saying.

Edith set the tray on the table and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, hush. Was no trouble for family.”

“Room for one more in here?” John asked sticking his head in.

“Wow,” Stiles said again as his dad entered without waiting for an answer. “Can we not do the Brady family meeting right now?”

“Are we interrupting something?” Melissa asked pointedly and Stiles flushed going red from his ears down. Derek swore even his stomach got warmer.

“No,” he squeaked. “No. It’s just…we just woke up.”

“Sorry, son,” John said glancing at Melissa. “It’s just, well, Melissa and I have come up with a proposition and I happen to think it’s a good idea.”

“We want you to get married here,” Melissa said.

“Tomorrow,” Edith added.

* * *

 

**Part Four: The Planning**

_I had the whole thing planned down to the last detail. I was hoping to sweep everyone off their feet with how prepared I was. It didn’t quite work out exactly as I’d hoped. That tends to happen when life pitches a curve ball at you when you were expecting a straight._

*

Stiles froze and Derek stared speechless for a long moment. In spite of the fact that the whole goal was to get married, the idea of doing so tomorrow was terrifying. Stiles recovered first, sitting up so Derek’s hand was dislodged. “No,” he said. “No, no. Come on, guys, it’s…it’s savta’s birthday tomorrow. Big day for her. She’s turning ninety.”

“I’ve had eighty-nine birthday parties,” Edith said. “I don’t need another one.”

Stiles swallowed, shoulders dropping. “Savta.”

“It’d be a dream come true to be at your wedding,” Edith said. “And we all know if we let you go back to New York you’ll just get married by the court without a ceremony or anything.”

Stiles bowed his head, kneading his fingers into his forehead. “Ah, you’re right,” he admitted before looking up. “Fine. Okay. Yeah. We’ll get married here.”

John smiled, looking relieved, and Derek wondered why it mattered so much. “Ok. We will do everything,” he said. “And you can get married in the barn like…”

“You and mom did,” Stiles finished and John’s smile grew even wider.

“It’s a Stilinski family tradition,” Edith said to Derek who was frowning in confusion.

“Good,” he said when everyone looked at him expectantly. “I’ve always wanted…to get married in a barn.”

Edith grinned and winked at him. “It’s a sign from the universe.”

“Okay,” John said clapping his hands together. “It’s settled. We’ll clear out and let you boys wake up good and proper. Come on, Edith.”

Stiles waved, laughing as they left and Derek wondered if he was projecting the slightly hysterical edge to it for all of five seconds until the door was tugged closed and Stiles practically faceplanted into the bed.

“Oh, my god,” he cried burying his face in his hands. “When my dad finds out this is a sham he’s gonna be crushed. And my grandmother’s gonna die. And Lydia’s going to _murder_ me.”

Derek sat forward alarmed, but unsure if he should touch. “You’re dad’s not going to find out,” he said soothingly, never mind that soothing had always been his mother’s thing. None of her children had really inherited that ability.

“My father,” Stiles said sounding like he hadn’t heard Derek at all. “What’s with that? The fuck did the wedding thing come from?”

“It’s fine,” Derek tried again. “They’re not going to find out.”

“God. Derek!”

“Stiles,” Derek said abandoning soothing for downright authoritarian and grabbing Stiles’ shoulders to try and knead out some of the tenseness. “They’re not going to find out, okay? Just relax. And it’s not like we’re going to be married forever,” Derek reminded him. “We’ll be happily divorced before you know it, and your family will be none the wiser. It’ll be fine.

Stiles let out a shaky breath and peeked out from behind his hands.

“You okay?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. Why don’t you get us some coffee?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said but made no move to get off the bed. “You’re right. Get a quickie divorce, everything will be fine.”

“Absolutely,” Derek said trying and failing to ignore the lead rock that just dropped into his stomach. “Everything will be great. Get us coffee, will you?”

Stiles blinked, then shook his head. “Yeah, sure. Be right back.”

Derek waited until he slipped from the room before bolting for the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and locked it for good measure turning to stare at his reflection in the mirror. “Okay,” he told himself. “You just…have to focus. Just focus. This is a business deal. That’s all. Just business. Everything will be fine.”

Despite his own words Derek could feel his heart picking up, pounding hard against his ribs. He yanked the door open, quickly digging through his suitcase for clean clothes before leaving the room and bounding down the stairs. He met Stiles at the bottom with two mugs cradled in his hands, offering some flimsy excuse about taking a walk and ignoring the hurt confusion on Stiles’ face as he pushed past him.

Outside was nice. Fresh air. No people. Derek wasn’t sure when he started running but once he started it was hard to stop. So he kept going following a barely there rough path through the woods and focusing on nothing but the pounding of his feet and his harsh breaths. He did have to stop eventually, if he wanted to keep his neck unbroken, when the ground got particularly rocky and treacherous. He slowed to a stop leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees and pulling in deep breaths. As he stood quiet listening to the forest around him, he caught just the barest sounds of chanting in the distance.

Curiosity piqued he followed the voice at a much slower pace, picking his way carefully off the path for a more direct line towards the source. At the edge of the clearing he paused, unsure exactly what he was seeing even if he did recognize Edith as the person chanting.

“Derek of New York,” Edith intoned. “I see you are a curious one. Come. See how I give thanks to HaShem.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Derek said taking a step back. “I’ll just—”

“Look around you, dear,” Edith said. “HaShem has provided all of this. Just as He brought you and Stiles together. We must give thanks that you found your beshert. Dance with me in celebration.”

“Can’t I…Can’t I just thank, uh, HaShem from here?”

“I insist! Dance with me.”

“Okay,” Derek said sliding down the bank and nearly falling on his ass. “Okay. I will, uh, come down and dance with you.”

Edith smiled reaching out to clasp his hands. “Follow and learn. Feel His rhythm within you,” she said letting go and beginning to hum as she slowly circled around the clearing occasionally uttering short sounds that Derek vaguely recognized as another language. “Now you.”

“What?” Derek asked.

“Chant!”

“Chant what?”

“Whatever comes to you, child,” Edith said. “He will understand.”

Derek balked feeling frozen to the ground. “I don’t know any chants,” he said.

“Chant to the trees, to the sky, to HaShem,” Edith said circling back around. “Use your vowels. Come on, now.”

Derek let himself be nudged into motion haltingly copying Edith’s arm waving and weaving about the clearing. “Okay,” he said and this wasn’t so bad. “Chant.”

“Yes,” Edith said. “Chant.”

“To the trees. To the sky. To HaShem,” Derek echoed moving his arms with more force and shuffling around the clearing. “To the trees. To the sky. To the crazy. To the window.”

Derek swallowed, dancing around the clearing with Edith chanting behind him in that same strange language.

“To the window,” he said again. “To the wall, to the wall. To the sweat drip down my balls. To all you bitches—”

“Louder!” Edith said increasing her own volume.

“To the window, to the window,” Derek said. “To the wall, to the wall. To the sweat drip down my balls. Now all you bitches crawl. All skeet, skeet, mother. All skeet, skeet, goddamn.”

It was freeing, in an awkward and weird way. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d even heard this song, but the words were there in his mind with the beat. Flowing through his limbs as he moved, shuffling around the clearing and rolling his hips.

“To the window, to the window. To the wall, to the wall. To the sweat drip down my balls. To all you bitches crawl. All skeet, skeet, mother. All skeet, skeet, goddamn.”

Derek spun around shocked to see Edith grinning at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. He grinned back, unable and unwilling to stop it as he fell into the next words.

“Let me see you get low. You scared, you scared. Drop your ass to the floor. You scared, you scared,” he sang crouching and rolling his hips like he hadn’t in years. All the while Edith just smiled. “Let me see you get low, you scared, you scared. See you get low, you scared, you scared—”

“Whatcha doing?” someone called and Derek promptly fell on his ass.

Scrambling around he found Stiles staring down at him, all raised eyebrows and with that same mischievous glint in his eyes as Edith. “Uh, your savta wanted me to, uh, chant.”

Stiles glanced at Edith. “Sure she did.”

Edith laughed, words Derek didn’t understand rolling off her tongue again. The only thing he caught was HaShem though he wasn’t sure what that was either. Stiles responded in kind, shaking his head and coming forward to offer Derek a hand up.

“She said to chant from the heart,” Derek said dusting dirt off the seat of his pants and Stiles laughed, the sound light and musical.

“Balls?” he said. “That’s what came to your heart?”

Derek flushed rubbing at the back of his neck. “It went with the beat,” he defended weakly.

“I have to go to town,” Stiles said still chuckling. “Wanna come with?”

“Yes,” Derek said following after him instinctively. “Yes, I want to go. Wait.” He turned around looking at Edith. “Is it okay if I go?”

Edith laughed. “Whatever you do is what shall be.”

“Right,” Derek said not understanding that either even if it was in English. “But you’re okay if I go?”

“Go on,” Edith said shooing him. “I’ll be fine.”

Derek nodded catching up with Stiles who shoved at his shoulder with a muttered, “You’re a freak.”

“Shut up,” Derek replied without heat. “What’s HaShem?”

Stiles stared at him incredulously. “It’s God, with a capital g,” he said pointing at the sky. “As in the Big Guy.”

“I was chanting to God?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “About your balls.”

*

“What are we going to town for?”

Stiles hummed pulling the boat alongside the dock and tying it off. “Gotta find Rabbi Winters. See if he’ll preside over the ceremony tomorrow. Because apparently when my dad said they’d take care of everything he only meant most of everything.”

“Why would we need a rabbi?” Derek asked puzzled.

Stiles sent him a sidelong look. “Because I’m Jewish,” he said rolling his eyes at the mounting confusion spreading over Derek’s face. “See this is the exact sort of thing that should have been sorted before we agreed to get married.”

“You’re Jewish,” Derek repeated still processing and absent mindedly taking Stiles’ proffered hand as he climbed out of the boat. “Sorry, it’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen…”

“Me do anything Jew-like?” Stiles finished flashing a small grin Derek’s way when he flushed in embarrassment. “That’s because I’m not a particularly good one. My mother would be rolling in her grave if she could see me now.”

“Does this mean the ceremony will be Jewish?”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Yes,” he said. “That would seem to be the case. Unless you object?”

“No,” Derek replied. “No. It’s fine.”

Finding the rabbi turned out to be pretty easy and getting him to agree to preside was even easier. Apparently he was quite fond of the Stilinski family as a whole. Derek was beginning to think there wasn’t anyone in the town who didn’t like the Stilinskis. Ten minuets after starting their quest to find Rabbi Winters they’d already completed it leaving Stiles and Derek to stroll aimlessly along the pier.

They walked for some time in companionable silence before Stiles turned to Derek and asked, “You hungry?” As if waiting for a cue Derek’s stomach rumbled. Stiles snorted. “Figured. You didn’t have any breakfast.”

Derek bit his lip remembering exactly why he’d foregone breakfast and deciding that, regardless of how Stiles looked bathed in sunlight, he wasn’t going to miss lunch due to another freak out. “I could eat,” he said finally, and Stiles hummed grabbing his hand to tug him along.

“Come on, I know what we should get. You’ll love it.”

Ten more minutes later with a warm bowl cradled carefully in his hands as they walked along the pier Derek had to admit Stiles was right. The pierogies were pretty damn good, all slathered in butter with translucent onions. Practically heaven in a bowl. The fact that Derek was starving may have played into the equation, but he wasn’t complaining in any capacity.

“It’s been a long time since I had these,” Stiles said picking at his bowl carefully. “It was my mom’s favorite place.”

“My mom’s favorite food was spaghetti,” Derek said. “She and my grandmother used to make homemade sauce every fall. Took them hours.”

Stiles nodded chewing thoughtfully at a bite of dumpling before saying, “Tell me about your family.”

Derek paused staring down at the melted butter beginning to congeal in his bowl. “There’s not much to tell,” he said.

“Sure there is. I could go on for hours about my mother and she’s just one person.”

Derek nodded but still said nothing, a lump in his throat catching every time he tried to speak. Stiles walked in silence beside him for several minutes, never pushing, just letting Derek work at his own pace.

“This was all my mother’s, you know,” Stiles said eventually. “All the businesses, I mean. My dad’s side of the family is dirt poor and mean as hell. Dad never talks about them. I met my grandfather once. He slapped me for back talking, and Dad never took me to see him again.”

Derek pursed his lips ignoring the flash of anger he felt for a man he’d never laid eyes on. “So Stilinski is your mother’s name?”

“Dad took her name when they married, yes. Mom was the sole surviving member of her family, and she wanted to preserve the company,” Stiles explained twirling a long onion around his fork. “Dad taking her name was one of the conditions of their marriage actually. He never had any problem with it, though. Says he was more than happy to cut ties with his folks.”

“I thought Edith was Claudia’s mother?” Derek asked.

Stiles smiled shaking his head. “Nah. She just practically adopted my mom, or my mom adopted her. Either way. Savta just became a part of our family. She didn’t have anyone else.”

“So she’s not your grandmother by blood?”

“Nope.”

“I never would have guessed,” Derek said. “You’re so alike.”

“She and my mom were basically carbon copies,” Stiles said finishing off the last of his pierogies and wiping a smear of butter from his chin. “Always gettin’ in some sort of trouble.”

“Like you then?”

Stiles shrugged, expression going a bit shadowed. “You could say that.”

“Laura was like that,” Derek said before he could change his mind. Spitting it out before the lump in his throat could close in again. It felt a bit like ripping off a band-aid. Sharp and painful, but followed by relief. “A mischief maker. She pranked us relentlessly. Cora hated it.”

“And your parents?”

“My dad thought it was endearing,” Derek said. “Mom endured it. My uncle Peter was a terrible influence.”

“Sounds nice,” Stiles said sincerely and Derek bowed his head with a slight nod.

“Yeah,” he said surprised when the admission didn’t hurt. “It was.”

Stiles straightened at the sound of his name being called in the distance. Turning to look himself Derek saw Melissa approaching with Edith and Erica by her side. Stiles waved shifting a little closer to Derek so their arms brushed against each other.

“Hey, guys,” he said once Melissa and the others were closer. “What are you doing here?”

“We need Derek,” Erica said linking her arm through his to pull him away with a wink. “Don't worry. We’ll return him in the same condition or better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said waving a dismissive hand before meeting Derek’s gaze and grinning. “See you back at the boat, Charming. Don’t be too long.”

*

_The most beautiful people you’ll ever meet aren’t always the ones who will catch your eye. No, the most beautiful people are the ones that can never quite be figured out. The ones you could talk with for hours and still have a million things to ask. Those are the people you can’t help but fall in love with._

*

Of all the surprises Derek expected, especially being fetched as he’d been by Erica, being presented with a tuxedo and white robe was not on the list. He reflection was almost unrecognizable even to himself. Not that he was any stranger to wearing suits, but the meaning and weight behind this particular tuxedo was almost overbearing. The knowledge that this time tomorrow Derek would be standing in front of a rabbi with Stiles pledging his devotion was staggering. The fact that the idea didn’t terrify Derek was even ore staggering.

“This is the same tuxedo and kittel I wore for my first wedding,” John said smoothing his hands across Derek’s shoulders. “Didn’t wear a tuxedo for my second. Just like Melissa didn’t wear a gown. But I am glad I kept this.”

Derek stared at his reflection, gaze trailing along the lines of the suit. The way the jacket hung around his waist, the sharpness of the black against the white shirt, the freshly polished shoes, the way the kittel framed everything together. The yarmulke felt odd on his head but Derek found it oddly pleasing all the same.

“It fits you well,” John continued. “And Edith can touch up anywhere it needs, though I don’t think it needs much. You and I are the same height, similar build.”

“Yeah,” Derek said mouth uncomfortably dry. “Yeah, it does.”

John readjusted the collar clearing his throat. “I was thinking,” he started staring intently at the bowtie he was fastening around Derek’s neck, “that maybe, if you and Stiles would like, we could head down your way for the holidays this year.”

“That, that would be nice,” Derek said hoarsely even as his mind reeled at the idea of having holidays again. Of celebrating with a family in a way he hadn’t in almost a decade. “Or, maybe, we could come to you.”

“I’d like that,” John said finishing the bowtie and circling behind Derek, hands resting on his shoulders as they both regarded his reflection in the mirror. “There. Just one last touch and you’ll be ready.”

Derek watched silently as John pulled a small box from his coat pocket regarding it for a moment before coming to stand in front of Derek again.

“My, uh, my wife, Claudia, gave these to me for our wedding,” John said taking the lid off the box to reveal a set of modest, yet elegant looking cufflinks. In spite of their simplicity Derek was intrigued by the pale pink of the gemstone set within. “I was planning on giving them to Stiles when he got married, but I’m…I’m not sure how he’d feel about that. I’ve elected to give him something else, and, well, I’d like you to have these.”

Derek tore his gaze from the cufflinks to John’s face watching in mute shock as he set the box aside and began fastening the cufflinks to Derek’s shirt with gentle hands.

“See the stone here,” John said brushing his thumb over the slightly pink rock. “That’s rose quartz. According to Claudia, it represents unconditional love.”

“John,” Derek forced out around the lump in his throat, “I really couldn’t—”

“You can and you will,” John said placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder and leaning down to catch his gaze. “You make my son happy, Derek. I can’t ask for more than that.”

*

Stiles about fell off his seat when Derek jumped onto the boat making a direct line for the front. He did fall off as Derek settled into the seat and abruptly pulled the boat away from the dock. Grimacing as his ass smarted from the hard landing, Stiles struggled to his feet only to be knocked back almost immediately as Derek opened up the throttle.

“Whoa,” Stiles said as the boat lurched forward at an alarming speed bouncing across the waves. “Derek, mind telling me what the hell’s wrong!”

Derek shook his head, hands clenched around the wheel. “I needed to get away from everyone,” he said almost inaudible over the wind whipping by them.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles pressed.

“Nothing!” Derek replied sounding just shy of hysterical. “Just stop talking!”

“Would you please tell me what’s happening now, please?” Stiles asked anxiety pooling in his gut at the uncertainty of the situation. “Derek. Derek!”

“I forgot, okay?” Derek snapped.

Stiles grabbed the railing as the boat lurched particularly hard. “Forgot what?”

“I forgot what it was like to have a family,” Derek said. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen and I forgot what it felt like to have people love you and make you breakfast and say, _Hey, we’d love to come down for the holidays_. And I say, _Well, why don’t we come up instead_. And give you cufflinks. And you have all that here. And I’m just…destroying everything!”

Stiles scoffed grabbing Derek’s arm and not letting the other man shake him off. “You’re not destroying it!” he shouted matching Derek’s volume. “I agreed to this! Remember?”

“Your family loves you,” Derek said harkening back to their first night in Alaska. “They _love_ you. Do you know that?”

“Yes!” Stiles said. “I know that.”

“And you’re willing to put them through this too?”

“They’re not going to find out,” Stiles said. “You said so yourself.”

“But what if your father,” Derek started before cutting off with a harsh breath and removing his hands from the wheel. “Oh, god. If your father found out…what if Edith finds out? Or Melissa and Scott…”

“Derek, the boat is moving,” Stiles said shouldering past Derek to take the wheel and swearing at the buoy bobbing far too close at their current speed. He turned the wheel hard bracing his stance. “Hold on!”

They cleared the buoy just barely, and Stiles eased the throttle down his own breathing slowing as the boat slowed. “Listen. Everything will be fine. Although I don’t think that hijacking a boat is a proper way to express your frustration,” he said turning around. His stomach swooped at the empty boat behind him. “Derek?”

“Stiles!”

There, flailing in the water. Shit. “Derek!”

Stiles didn’t hesitate when Derek slipped under the rippling wave. The man couldn’t swim, after all. Stiles shed his jacket and took a running leap off the back of the boat to dive into the water. The cold hit him like knife to the chest, but he fought the urge to surface and swam towards the vague form of Derek. He got an arm hooked around Derek’s chest, relieved when he felt the man’s struggles lessen, and kicked to propel them upwards.

Derek coughed when they broke the surface drowning out Stiles’ own gasps for breaths. “Stiles.” His teeth were chattering so much he could barely get Stiles’ name out.

“I got you,” Stiles said, his own words slightly mangled from shivering. “Got you.”

Hauling Derek in closer Stiles kicked for the buoy stretching out to grab it and drawing Derek to it as well. Derek clung to the bar like a lifeline, and Stiles grabbed on keeping one arm wrapped around Derek to offer support.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked. “Coulda gotten yourself killed.”

“You turned the boat and made me fall in, you jackass,” Derek retorted and Stiles couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up in response.

“You let go of the steering wheel, Ahab,” Stiles said craning his neck to look for the boat but not missing the incredulous look Derek shot him. “Stay here, I’m gonna get the boat.”

Derek nodded sharply readjusting his grip on the buoy. Stiles gave his arm one last squeeze before pushing off and swimming for the boat. Luckily it didn’t seem to have drifted too far and he reached it in a matter of minutes. Hauling himself onboard was another question entirely with near numb fingers, but he managed. He pulled Derek up moments later sitting him in one of the seats before digging out one of the blankets they kept onboard and throwing it around their shoulders.

“Come here,” he muttered drawing Derek to him. “We gotta get warmed up. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Derek said half lost in his shivers. The word almost stopped Stiles dead in surprise. But he didn’t comment, just pulled Derek even closer.

“It’s okay.”

*

Lydia was at the house when they arrived still a little damp and shivering in the cool air. She eyed them suspiciously, rising from her seat on the front porch steps. Stiles frowned glancing to the left; when Derek followed his gaze he saw what must be Lydia’s car parked by the garage.

“What are you doing here, Lyds?” Stiles asked.

“I got a phone call,” she said. “From a Mr. Finstock.”

Derek felt like he’d been dropped back in the ocean as Lydia turned her hard gaze to him, and Stiles swore under his breath. “Why’d he even call you?”

“Because you still have me listed as your emergency contact?” Lydia said harshly. “Or perhaps because you’ve never seen fit to remove me as a character reference on your résumés or applications.”

Stiles ran his hands over his face. “Jesus.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said stepping closer. “Do you know what he told me? He said if you’re lying about this wedding, and he _strongly_ believes you are, he would send you to prison.”

“Lydia—”

“Do you understand that, Stiles? Prison. Okay? This is not a game, it’s not a joke, it’s not a stolen police cruiser,” she said. “Now, I negotiated for you. Finstock says that if you make a statement admitting this marriage is a sham, you’re off the hook. You don’t go to prison, and Derek goes back to Canada.”

Stiles stood quietly, then shook his head. “I’m not gonna do that, Lyds.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles,” Lydia said. “This isn’t going to work. You have to see that.”

“I’m not being stupid. Derek and I are in love.”

Lydia scoffed in frustration. “Oh for god’s sake, Stiles,” she cried. “I’m not going to let you throw your life away for some man who basically terrorized you for the past three years!”

“If Finstock wants a statement you can tell him this,” Stiles growled back, anger coloring his voice and features. “I’ve worked for Derek Hale for three years. Six months ago we started dating, we fell in love. He asked me to marry him, I said yes. That’s it. See you at the wedding.” 

* * *

 

**Part Five: The Wedding**

_People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life._

*

Derek was getting married. God, how did he even get here? Standing in front of all these people under a tent Stiles had called a chuppah. In front of Stiles’ family about to swear his love and devotion to their son, brother, and friend. All under the pretense of a lie.

And everyone looked so damn happy, faces nearly glowing as they stared up in silence while the rabbi spoke. Definitively different from earlier when Stiles was trying to recite something in Hebrew while everyone else did their very best to laugh and sing and clap their hands loud enough to knock Stiles off his rhythm. Stiles had called it a tish, explained with a twinkle in his eye that the whole point was for everyone else to be assholes.

And now, here they were, hands clasped, the ring Derek was about to present to Stiles heavy in his pocket. Clad in white together to represent new beginnings, a clean slate. In the back of the room Bobby Finstock slipped through the doors and Derek’s heart stuttered.

“Stop.”

The rabbi blinked glancing at Stiles before looking at Derek as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Are you all right?” he asked much softer.

Stiles squeezed his hand and Derek pulled away. “Yes. I mean, no. I have something I need to say.”

“Derek.” Stiles looked at him, eyes pleading.

The rabbi was still perplexed, still whispering. “Can it wait until after?”

“No,” Derek said staring at Stiles and not bothering to keep his voice low. “No, it can’t. Because we aren’t getting married.”

Stiles closed his eyes and Derek’s pretty sure he heard Lydia swear him bodily harm. He forced himself to turn, facing the crowd of people, and clear his throat.

“I have an announcement,” he said before shaking his head. “More of a confession, actually. I’m, uh, Canadian. With an expired visa about to be deported. And because I didn’t want to leave the country I forced Stiles to marry me.”

“Derek, stop it.”

“Stiles has always had this extraordinary work ethic. Something I think he learned from you,” Derek continued looking at John and ignoring the way Stiles was trying to melt into his hands or the floor looking about three seconds away from a breakdown. “And for three years I watched him work harder than anyone else at our company. And I knew that if I threatened to destroy his career he’d do just about anything.”

Stiles was staring at him now, an expression of absolute hurt and betrayal on his face. Derek cleared his throat again, looking away. He didn’t want to see that. Ever.

“So I blackmailed him to come up here and to lie to you. All of you. And I thought that it would be easy to watch him do it. I was wrong. Turns out it’s hard to ruin someone’s life once you finally figure out how wonderful they are,” he said voice going softer than he intended on the last words.

“Derek—”

“Stiles, this was a business deal, and you held up your end,” Derek said briskly stepping away before Stiles could touch him. “But now the deal is off, and I have a plane to catch at the airport.”

*

_I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have a tendency not only to see the worst in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of destroying me on a whim. I have sabotaged more relationships than I care to count with men who would otherwise be practically perfect in every way. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own pessimism.”_

*

Derek packed his things quickly, throwing clothes into his suitcase in a haphazard manner. He tugged his bowtie off with shaking fingers, swallowing heavily has he carefully removed the cufflinks and set them on the dresser. He set the rest of his clothes on the bed with similar care making sure to not unduly wrinkle John’s tuxedo or kittel.

Dressed down in a pair of jeans and a sweater Derek paused over the manuscript he’d packed days ago to review in his downtime. He hadn’t read much of it here, but he’d already read it three times. Decision made he slid it out of his suitcase with a pen scrawling a brief note on the first page.

He left it on the bed with the ring that had weighed heavily in his pocket since this morning.

Finstock met him downstairs expression grim but satisfied. “I’ll give you a ride to the airport,” he said.

Derek nodded curtly and brushed past him to the car.

In Finstock’s SUV Derek watched the scenery slip by ignoring the coalescing sense of dread and disappointment settling in his stomach. He wouldn’t doubt his decision. He’d deal with it. Deal with the loneliness. Deal with the disappointment. Deal with the grief. And Stiles would be better off for it.

“Now that you’re leaving voluntarily, it all becomes very civilized,” Finstock said glancing over as he drove. “Once we land in New York, you’ll have twenty-four hours to head back to Canada. Understood?”

Derek slid on a pair of sunglasses sniffing disinterestedly. “Yeah. Got it.”

*

“What were you thinking?”

The fact that Dad sounded so weary saying that is the worst part, Stiles thought. That he’d made so many mistakes in his twenty-odd years of life that Dad had just sort of resigned himself to asking that question. It made Stiles feel like a shit son and a shit person without even taking into account the looks of disappointment on Melissa and Edith’s faces. Or the look of shock on Scott’s face at the ceremony and the way Lydia had just stared at him.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said honestly.

“Stiles,” his father said, “you lied to us.”

“I know. Just…lemme just get my head on straight,” Stiles said because part of him was still processing and another part was still trying to figure out why this all seemed like the end of the world. So Derek called off the wedding. So what? Nothing changed for Stiles. He wasn’t being deported. He probably wouldn’t lose his job, whatever Derek had said. His book probably wouldn’t be published, but it hadn’t had great odds to start.

“Stiles—”

“Dad,” he said. “Please. Just give me a few minutes.”

He didn’t wait to see if his dad would listen. Just headed up to his room and slammed the door shut behind him so he could panic in peace. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to fall into a sense of security when he knew the truth all along. He knew it wouldn’t last, hell that had been the whole idea, but it was supposed to have lasted a hell of a lot longer than it did.

The ring on the bed caught Stiles’ attention first. He picked it up, sliding his thumb around the gold band before he noticed the manuscript beneath it. Stiles frowned picking up the papers to read the note scribbled in the right hand corner. 

 

 

> _You were right. This book is special. I didn’t want to publish it because I knew it’d mean losing you as an assistant. But you have an extraordinary gift, and I’ll make sure we buy this before I leave._
> 
> _You have an amazing family, and I won’t ruin that. Make peace with your father, Stiles, and enjoy your life. You deserve every bit of happiness._

Stiles swallowed. Read the note again. Pushed down the urge to shred the page and just crumpled it between his fingers instead. He heard the door open behind him and shut just as quietly.

“Stiles,” Dad said and Stiles tensed minutely.

“Dad, I’m sorry, really,” Stiles said covering his face with a hand and kneading at his eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I know it was stupid. I know it was—”

“Crazy?” Dad supplied. “Yeah, kid, but that’s kind of your style. You know people are going to be talking about this forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said waving a hand as Dad settled on the edge of the bed. “One more Stiles Stilinski fuck up. I was due for another one anyway.”

Dad sighed leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Are you okay?” he asked at length.

“Yeah,” Stiles said again then shook his head crumpling the manuscript in his hands. “No. Just…you know what the problem is? The problem is that this man is a gigantic pain in my ass.”

Dad frowned, eyebrows drawing together, but didn’t interrupt.

“First, there’s the whole leaving thing,” Stiles continued not bothering to keep his voice down. “I understand that. It’s sham wedding. It’s kind of stressful and Derek’s an anxious guy. Whatever. But then he leaves this note!” Stiles shouted flinging the manuscript at Dad who scrambled to catch it. “Because he doesn’t have the decency, the humanity to do it to my face!”

His father smoothed the pages out, squinting at the words inked on the page. “Stiles—”

“Three years, Dad!” Stiles yelled. “Three years I work with that terrorist. Never once did he have a nice thing to say, and then he goes ahead and writes that crap!”

“Stiles.”

“None of that matters, though! We had a deal!”

“Stiles.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. He just makes me a little crazy.”

Dad grinned, that soft, knowing grin that never failed to make any and all anger just deflate out of Stiles’ bones. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said. He held up the manuscript. “This is your mother’s book.”

Stiles blinked looking between Dad’s face and the pages in his hands. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Slowly crossing the room Stiles dropped down onto the bed next to his father staring at the crumpled manuscript. Dad ran his fingers over the title before flipping through a few of the pages and pausing at one in particular. “To my little bundle of mischief, may you be as crazy in life as I am,” he read softly. “And to your father, who has to put up with the both of us.”

Dad swallowed letting the pages fall closed and smoothing them out. “You finished it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said suddenly breathless. “I, uh—”

“You’re getting it published.”

“I’m…I'm trying.”

Dad sat the manuscript aside pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles fidgeted nervously, and Dad laughed. “Your mother would find this whole wedding thing absolutely hysterical,” he said scrubbing a hand over his face. “She’d love it.”

Stiles smiled weakly. “She would.”

“So you’re just going to let him go?” Dad asked.

Stiles shrugged clenching his hands and feeling the hard press of the ring he still held. He unfurled his fingers, picking the ring up gently and inspecting the way sunlight played off it.

“You know what your mom did when I first proposed to her?” Dad said. “Took the ring, hopped on a plane to New York, and gallivanted across the states for seven weeks before sending me a post card from Taos, New Mexico that just said _yes_.”

“Dad,” Stiles said staring down at the ring in his hand.

“Yes, son?”

“I need a ride.”

*

_Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. Otherwise, you’ll never find it._

*

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Derek froze looking up slowly from the pile of papers he was trying to sort through. “Stiles,” he said numbly before noticing Stiles looked like absolute shit. All sweaty and panting like he’d run a marathon. “Why are you panting?”

“Because I’ve been running,” Stiles said dismissively.

Derek arched a questioning brow. “From Alaska?”

“No, not from Alaska. How would I have run all the way,” Stiles shook his head waving his hands again. “Never mind. I just, I need to talk to you.”

Derek huffed giving up on sorting and just dumping the pile of papers he was holding into a box. “I don’t have time to talk,” he said focusing on packing and not on Stiles. “I need to catch a five forty-five to Toronto.”

“Derek.”

“I need these boxes to go out today. I want to make sure everything is—”

“Derek,” Stiles snapped. “Listen! I gotta say something.”

Derek clenched his jaw still not looking at the other man and gave a sharp nod.

“Okay,” Stiles said running a hand through his hair. “This will just take a sec.”

“Fine,” Derek said shortly. “What?”

Stiles nodded, clearing his throat and waving fidgety hands around a moment before clasping them together and then immediately letting go. “Three days ago,” he started. “I loathed you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab. Or poisoned. Or, fuck, I dunno, hit by a meteor.”

Derek’s heart clenched at the reminder. “That’s nice, Stiles.”

“Then you made me drag you to Alaska,” Stiles continued unimpeded. “And things started to change. And I kissed you and you told me about your tattoo and I told you about my mother and I realized how…profoundly unhappy I was with my life.”

“Stiles—”

“The thing is, though, that I didn’t really realize any of that until I was standing in that barn. Alone. And I realized that maybe instead of avoiding connections we should be fostering them. And that maybe we should start with…us.”

Derek dropped his gaze to the empty desk in front of him words lodged in his throat.

“So,” Stiles said voice threaded with anxiety, “you can imagine my disappointment when it dawned on me that the man I might possibly love is about to be kicked out of the country. To Canada.”

“Trust me,” Derek said finally getting his lungs to function. “You don’t really want to be with me.”

“Actually,” Stiles said tossing something at Derek. “I do.”

Derek caught the box staring down at it in surprise at the tiny faces plastered all over it. Not Derek’s or even Stiles’ but faces all the same. “Decoupage,” Derek breathed.

“That’s right,” Stiles said. “Decoupage.”

* * *

 

  **Epilogue: The Inquisition of Bobby Finstock**

“So let me see if I’ve got this right,” Bobby said kneading his fingers into his eyes before looking at the two absolute idiots in front of him. “You two are engaged? Again?”

Stiles snapped his fingers and tipped an imaginary hat, but Bobby didn’t miss the glance the boy sent Derek as if seeking reassurance. “That’s right,” Stiles said the same time Derek input his own simple, “Yes.”

“For real?” Bobby checked.

“As real as any other engagement,” Stiles said looking slightly puzzled like he and Derek hadn’t just tried to pull off a fake ass engagement less than two weeks ago.

Again, Derek simply said, “Yes.”

Bobby sighed theatrically. “You wanna go through with this? Because one wrong answer,” he warned turning up his crazy eyes enough that Stiles blinked in surprise and Derek’s eyebrows drew together, “and I’m gonna take you down.”

This time Stiles and Derek’s answers were the same. “Okay.”

*

“So how long have you been dating?”

“A week,” Stiles answered promptly.

Derek sighed, long and put upon. “Eleven days.”

“Right,” Stiles agreed with an impish grin. “A week. Ish.”

“And you idiots think it’s a good idea to get married?”

Again an affirmation in unison, “Yes.”

 _Ugh_ , Bobby thought, _God save me from the millennials_.

*

“Was it love at first sight?”

Stiles snorted. “No.”

Derek’s eyebrow twitched. “No.”

“Derek was a right bastard. A hot bastard. But a bastard nonetheless.”

“I didn’t even notice Stiles existed.”

*

“What kind of deodorant does Derek use?”

“Derek doesn’t use deodorant,” Stiles said. “He smells of pure man. Like a pine tree.”

Derek sighed. “I use Men’s Speed Stick. Alpine. Stiles wears Axe. When he remembers to use it.”

“Don’t complain, sourwolf. You love my authentic scent.”

*

“What side of the bed does he sleep on?”

Stiles scowled. “What side of the bed do _you_ sleep on?”

“I sleep in the middle,” Bobby answered, “sprawled out on my back like a starfish completely naked.”

“So does he,” Derek said straight-faced and ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawk. Bobby admired the boy’s gumption. “I sleep under him.”

*

“Look, are they soulmates or not?”

The pretty redhead smirked a little examining her nails. “Will they kill each other? Probably not.”

*

“What’s Derek’s favorite color?”

“Black. Like his soul.”

*

“Do you think they really love each other?”

“I don’t think my boy knows how to not love other people,” Stiles’ father answered with a fond smile. “He goes all in. Every time.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Stiles loves like a champ. Kid is head over heels for Derek.”

“And Derek?” Bobby asked.

“I believe that boy loves my son. Wouldn’t have let him leave my house intact if I didn’t if you catch my meaning.”

“I don’t think I do.”

*

“Are you a good driver?” Bobby asked Stiles expecting the prompt answer he received.

“Yes.”

“No,” Derek countered.

Stiles blinked. “In my mind I am. I’m excellent.”

“You’re really not.”

“Excuse me, but I’m _not_ the one who almost wrecked my family’s boat, am I? In fact I haven’t hit anything yet.”

“Yeah, _yet._ ”

*

“Would you consider Derek a good dancer?”

“His eyebrows say no but his hips say yes,” Stiles said with an audible smirk.

Derek just closed his eyes, brow furrowing like he was remembering something mildly unpleasant.

Bobby nodded his brain starting to feel like mush. “Naturally.”

*

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Do you think that’s what Stiles said when I asked him?”

“No. He probably said it was black.”

*

“I call him sourwolf.”

“Monkey.”

“Der-bear.”

“Baboon.”

“Poochy.”

“Brat.”

“Sometimes I call him Pam.”

Bobby blinked. “Why Pam?”

“It has a nice ring to it.”

*

“What’s Stiles’ favorite movie?”

“ _Guardians of the Galaxy_.”

*

“What’s your position in the relationship?”

Derek frowned. “When you say _position_ —”

“Derek’s totally the top,” Stiles said with absolutely no shame while Derek flushed. “Unless I’m really, really good.”

Bobby blinked. “Is that so?”

“No, sometimes we just switch,” Stiles admitted. “For variety.”

*

“Did you know it was a fake engagement before?”

Edith waved a dismissive hand. “Of course I knew. Those boys are about as subtle as a train wreck.”

“But you didn’t say anything?”

“No! Why would I? They only thought it was fake.”

“Ma’am,” Bobby said. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“It’s bashert, I tell you. Meant to be.”

*

“Who’s better at Mario Kart?”

Derek jerked his thumb to the left. “Stiles is freakishly good at Mario Kart.”

Stiles grinned. “I can play with my face.”

Bobby glanced at Derek.

“He can play with his face,” Derek confirmed.

*

“What’s your favorite movie?”

Stiles pursed his lips. “That’s a tough one. I’d have to say _Guardians of the Galaxy_.”

Bobby hummed making note on his paper.

“Did Derek pass?”

“He did,” Bobby said a bit unhappily.

Stiles whistled. “That’s impressive.”

“How so?”

“I change my mind on that every couple hours. Earlier today my favorite movie was _La La Land_.”

*

“Are you surprised Stiles is marrying Derek?”

Scott shrugged. “I was, at first. Like back when they weren’t really engaged but just pretending.”

“Why were you surprised?”

“Because Stiles hated Derek’s guts,” Scott said. “He’d rant for hours if we let him.”

“But you’re not surprised now?”

Scott shook his head with a smirk. “For Stiles the line between love and hate has always been very thin. After seeing them together, I’m not surprised he tripped over it.”

*

“How’d you propose?”

Stiles glanced over at Derek. “I threw a ring at him,” he said with a soft smile. “And then I said, _I hear first is the worst but second is the best_.”

Derek huffed, but a small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “And I caught the ring and said, _I suppose that’s true._ ”

*

_There comes a time in your life where you can look at a situation in front of you and admit that, “Yes, it is a total disaster.” And there comes a time, eventually, where you can take it one step further and say, “That’s okay, I’ll make it work.”_

 


End file.
